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THE  WORKS 


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WASHINGTON  IRYIIG 


NEW  EDITION,  REVISED. 


VOL.  XI. 
OLIVE  R^"  4  mtf^J)  SMITH 


NEW- YORK : 

GEORaE   P.    PUTNAM. 

1849. 


^^ 


3€^s 


r    OLIVER  GOLDSMITH: 


A  BIOGRAPHY 


BY 


WASHINGTON    IRYING 


NEW- YORK : 

GEORGE   P.   PUTNAM,    155   BROADWAY. 

LONDON:     JOHN    MURRAY. 

1849. 


Entered, 

according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in 
Washington  Irving, 

the  year  1849, 

.by 

in 

the  Clerk's 

Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern 
of  New- York. 

District 

John  F.  Trow, 

Printer  and   Stereotyper ^ 

49  Ann-street,  New- York. 


PREFACE 


In  the  course  of  a  revised  edition  of  my  works  I  have  come  to  a 
biographical  sketch  of  Goldsmith,  published  several  years  since. 
It  was  written  hastily,  as  introductory  to  a  selection  from  his 
writings ;  and,  though  the  facts  contained  in  it  were  collected 
from  various  sources,  I  was  chiefly  indebted  for  them  to  the 
voluminous  work  of  Mr.  James  Prior,  who  had  collected  and 
collated  the  most  minute  particulars  of  the  poet's  history  with 
unwearied  research  and  scrupulous  fidelity ;  but  had  rendered 
them,  as  I  thought,  in  a  form  too  cumbrous  and  overlaid  with 
details  and  disquisitions,  and  matters  uninteresting  to  the  gene- 
ral reader. 

When  I  was  about  of  late  to  revise  my  biqgraphical  sketch, 
preparatory  to  republication,  a  volume  was  put  into  my  hands, 
recently  given  to  the  public  by  Mr.  John  Forster,  of  the  Inner 
Temple,  who,  likewise  availing  himself  of  the  labors  of  the  inde- 
fatigable Prior,  and  of  a  few  new  lights  since  evolved,  has  pro- 
duced a  biography  of  the  poet,  executed  with  a  spirit,  a  feeling, 
a  grace  and  an  eloquence,  that  leave  nothing  to  be  desired.  In- 
deed it  would  have  been  presumption  in  me  to  undertake  the 
subject  after  it  had  been  thus  felicitously  treated,  did  I  not  stand 
committed  by  my  previous  sketch.     That  sketch  now  appeared 


Q  ^  o  -f 


•V  ^A  *-*  -u  ^ 


PREFACE, 


too  meager  and  insufficient  to  satisfy  public  demand ;  yet  it  had 
to  take  its  place  in  the  revised  series  of  my  works  unless  some- 
thing more  satisfactory  could  be  substituted.  Under  these  cir- 
cumstances I  have  again  taken  up  the  subject,  and  gone  into  it 
with  more  fulness  than  formerly,  omitting  none  of  the  facts 
which  I  considered  illustrative  of  the  life  and  character  of  the 
poet,  and  giving  them  in  as  graphic  a  style  as  I  could  command. 
Still  the  hurried  manner  in  which  I  have  had  to  do  this  amidst 
the  pressure  of  other  claims  on  my  attention,  and  with  the 
press  dogging  at  my  heels,  has  prevented  me  from  giving  some 
parts  of  the  subject  the  thorough  handling  I  could  have  wished. 
Those  who  would  like  to  see  it  treated  still  more  at  large,  with 
the  addition  of  critical  disquisitions  and  the  advantage  of  col- 
lateral facts,  would  do  well  to  refer  themselves  to  Mr.  Prior's 
cicumstantial  volumes,  or  to  the  elegant  and  discursive  pages  of 
Mr.  Forster. 

For  my  own  part,  I  can  only  regret  my  short  comings  in 
what  to  me  is  a  labor  of  love ;  for  it  is  a  tribute  of  gratitude 
to  the  memory  of  an  author  whose  writings  were  the  delight 
of  my  childhood,  and  have  been  a  source  of  enjoyment  to  me 
throughout  life  ;  and  to  whom,  of  all  others,  I  may  address 
the  beautiful  apostrophe  of  Dante  to  Virgil : 

Tu  se'  lo  mio  maestro,  e  '1  mio  autore: 
Tu  se'  solo  colui,  da  cu'  io  tolsi 
Lo  bello  stile,  che  m'  ha  fatto  onore. 


W.  I. 

SUNNYSIDE,  Aug.  1,  1849. 


OLIYER   GOLDSMITH 


-»<•»«> 


CHAPTER  I. 

Birth  and  parentage. — Characteristics  of  the  Goldsmith  race. — Poetical 
birthplace. — Goblin  house. — Scenes  of  boyhood. — Lissoy. — Picture  of  a 
country  parson. — Goldsmith's  school  mistress. — Byrne,  the  village  school- 
master.— Goldsmith's  hornpipe  and  epigram. — Uncle  Contarine, — School 
studies  and  school  sports. — Mistakes  of  a  night. 

There  are  few  writers  for  whom  the  reader  feels  such  personal 
kindness  as  for  Oliver  Groldsmith,  for  few  have  so  eminently- 
possessed  the  magic  gift  of  identifying  themselves  with  their 
writings.  We  read  his  character  in  every  page,  and  grow  into 
familiar  intimacy  with  him  as  we  read.  The  artless  benevolence 
that  beams  throughout  his  works ; '  the  whimsical,  yet  amiable 
views  of  human  life  and  human  nature ;  the  unforced  humor, 
blending  so  happily  with  good  feeling  and  good  sense,  and  singu- 
larly dashed  at  times  with  a  pleasing  melancholy ;  even  the 
very  nature  of  his  mellow,  and  flowing,  and  softly-tinted  style, 
all  seem  to  bespeak  his  moral  as  well  as  his  intellectual  qualities, 
and  make  us  love  the  man  at  the  same  time  that  we  admire  the 
f  author.     While  the  productions  of  writers  of  loftier  pretension 


18  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


and  more  sounding  names  are  suffered  to  moulder  on  our  shelves, 
those  of  Goldsmith  are  cherished  and  laid  in  our  bosoms.  ,  We 
do  not  quote  them  with  ostentation,  but  they  mingle  with  our 
minds,  sweeten  our  tempers,  and  harmonize  our  thoughts ;  they 
put  us  in  good  humor  with  ourselves  and  with  the  world,  and  in 
so  doing  they  make  us  happier  and  better  men. 

An  acquaintance  with  the  private  biography  of  Goldsmith 
lets  us  into  the  secret  of  his  gifted  pages.  We  there  discover 
them  to  be  little  more  than  transcripts  of  his  own  heart  and  pic- 
turings  of  his  fortunes.  There  he  shows  himself  the  same  kind, 
artless,  good-humored,  excursive,  sensible,  whimsical,  intelligent 
being  that  he  appears  in  his  writings.  Scarcely  an  adventure  or 
character  is  given  in  his  works  that  may  not  be  traced  to  his  own 
parti-colored  story.  Many  of  his  most  ludicrous  scenes  and 
ridiculous  incidents  have  been  drawn  from  his  own  blunders  and 
mischances,  and  he  seems  really  to  have  been  buffeted  into  almost 
every  maxim  imparted  by  him  for  the  instruction  of  his  reader. 

Oliver  Goldsmith  was  born  on  the  10th  of  November,  1728, 
at  the  hamlet  of  Pallas,  or  Pallasmore,  county  of  Longford,  in 
Ireland.  He  sprang  from  a  respectable,  but  by  no  means  a 
thrifty  stock.  Some  families  seem  to  inherit  kindliness  and  in- 
competency, and  to  hand  down  virtue  and  poverty  from  genera- 
tion to  generation.  Such  was  the  case  with  the  Goldsmiths. 
"  They  were  always,"  according  to  their  own  accounts,  "  a  strange 
family ;  they  rarely  acted  like  other  peaple ;  their  hearts  were 
in  the  right  place,  but  their  heads  seemed  to  be  doing  any 
thing  but  what  they  ought." — "They  were  remarkable,"  says 
another  statement,  "  for  their  worth,  but  of  no  cleverness  in  the 
ways  of  the  world."  Oliver  Goldsmith  will  be  found  faithfully 
to  inherit  the  virtues  and  weaknesses  of  his  race.  j 


POETICAL  BIRTHPLACE.  19 


His  father,  the  Rev.  Charles  Goldsmith,  with  hereditary- 
improvidence,  married  when  very  young  and  very  poor,  and 
starved  along  for  several  years  on  a  small  country  curacy  and 
the  assistance  of  his  wife's  friends.  His  whole  income,  eked  out 
by  the  produce  of  some  fields  which  he  farmed,  and  of  some  oc- 
casional duties  performed  for  his  wife's  uncle,  the  rector  of  an 
adjoining  parish,  did  not  exceed  forty  pounds. 

"And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year." 

He  inhabited  an  old,  half  rustic  mansion,  that  stood  on  a  rising 
ground  in  a  rough,  lonely  part  of  the  country,  overlooking  a  low 
tract  occasionally  flooded  by  the  river  Inny.  In  this  house  Gold- 
smith was  born,  and  it  was  a  birthplace  worthy  of  a,  poet ;  for, 
by  all  accounts,  it  was  haunted  ground.  A  tradition  handed  down 
among  the  neighboring  peasantry  states  that,  in  after  years,  the 
house,  remaining  for  some  time  untenanted,  went  to  decay,  the 
roof  fell  in,  and  it  became  so  lonely  and  forlorn  as  to  be  a  resort 
for  the  "  good  people  "  or  fairies,  who  in  Ireland  are  supposed  to 
delight  in  old,  crazy,  deserted  mansions  for  their  midnight  revels. 
All  attempts  to  repair  it  were  in  vain  ;  the  fairies  battled  stoutly 
to  maintain  possession.  A  huge  misshapen  hobgoblin  used  to  be- 
stride the  house  every  evening  with  an  immense  pair  of  jack- 
boots, which,  in  his  efforts  at  hard  riding,  he  would  thrust  through 
the  roof,  kicking  to  pieces  all  the  work  of  the  preceding  day. 
The  house  was  therefore  left  to  its  fate,  and  went  to  ruin. 

Such  is  the  popular  tradition  about  Goldsmith's  birthplace. 
About  two  years  after  his  birth  a  change  came  over  the  circum- 
stances of  his  father.  By  the  death  of  his  wife's  uncle  he  suc- 
ceeded to  the  rectory  of  Kilkenny  West ;  and,  abandoning  the 


20  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


old  goblin  mansion,  he  removed  to  Lissoy,  in  the  county  of  West- 
meath,  where  he  occupied  a  farm  of  seventy  acres,  situated  on 
the  skirts  of  that  pretty  little  village. 

This  was  the  scene  of  Goldsmith's  boyhood,  the  little  world 
whence  he  drew  many  of  those  pictures,  rural  and  domestic, 
whimsical  and  touching,  which  abound  throughout  his  works,  and 
which  appeal  so  eloquently  both  to  the  fancy  and  the  heart. 
Lissoy  is  confidently  cited  as  the  original  of  his  "Auburn"  in 
the  "  Deserted  Village ;"  his  father's  establishment,  a  mixture  of 
farm  and  parsonage,  furnished  hints,  it  is  said,  for  the  rural 
economy  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  ;  and  his  father  himself,  with 
his  learned  simplicity,  his  guileless  wisdom,  his  amiable  piety, 
and  utter  ignorance  of  the  world,  has  been  exquisitely  portrayed 
in  the  worthy  Dr.  Primrose.  Let  us  pause  for  a  moment,  and  draw 
from  Goldsmith's  writings  one  or  two  of  those  pictures  which, 
under  feigned  names,  represent  his  father  and  his  family,  and  the 
happy  fireside  of  his  childish  days. 

"  My  father,"  says  the  "  Man  in  Black,"  who,  in  some  re- 
spects, is  a  counterpart  of  Goldsmith  himself,  "  my  father,  the 
younger  son  of  a  good  family,  was  possessed  of  a  small  living  in 
the  church.  His  education  was  above  his  fortune,  and  his  gen- 
erosity greater  than  his  education.  Poor  as  he  was,  he  had  his 
flatterers  poorer  than  himself :  for  every  dinner  he  gave  them, 
they  returned  him  an  equivalent  in  praise ;  and  this  was  all  he 
wanted.  The  same  ambition  that  actuates  a  monarch  at  the 
head  of  his  army,  influenced  my  father  at  the  head  of  his  table: 
he  told  the  story  of  the  ivy-tree,  and  that  was  laughed  at ;  he 
repeated  the  jest  of  the  two  scholars  and  one  pair  of  breeches, 
and  the  company  laughed  at  that ;  but  the  story  of  Taffy  in  the 
sedan-chair  was  sure  to  set  the  table  in  a  roar.     Thus  his  plea- 


SCENES  OF  BOYl 


sure  increased  in  proportion  to  the  pleasure  he  gave ;  he  loved 
all  the  world,  and  he  fancied  all  the  world  loved  him. 

"  As  his  fortune  was  but  small,  he  lived  up  to  the  very  extent 
of  it:  he  had  no  intention  of  leaving  his  children  money,  for  that 
was  dross  ;  he  resolved  they  should  have  learning,  for  learning, 
he  used  to  observe,  was  better  than  silver  or  gold.  For  this 
purpose  he  undertook  to  instruct  us  himself,  and  took  as  much 
care  to  form  our  morals  as  to  improve  our  understanding.  We 
were  told  that  universal  benevolence  was  what  first  cemented  so- 
ciety :  we  were  taught  to  consider  all  the  wants  of  mankind  as 
our  own  ;  to  regard  the  human  face  dimne  with  affection  and 
esteem  ;  he  wound  us  up  to  be  mere  machines  of  pity,  and  ren- 
,dered  us  incapable  of  withstanding  the  slightest  impulse  made 
either  by  real  or  fictitious  distress.  In  a  word,  we  were  perfectly 
instructed  in  the  art  of  giving  away  thousands  before  we  were 
taught  the  necessary  qualifications  of  getting  a  farthing." 

In  the  Deserted  Village  we  have  another  picture  of  his  father 
and  his  father's  fireside  : 


"  His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train, 
He  chid  their  wanderings,  but  relieved  their  pain  ; 
The  long-remembered  beggar  was  his  guest, 
Whose  beard,  descending,  swept  his  aged  breast ; 
The  ruin'd  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud, 
Claim'd  kindred  there,  and  had  his  claims  allow'd  ; 
The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay. 
Sat  by  his  fire,  and  talk'd  the  night  away  ; 
Wept  o'er  his  wounds,  or  tales  of  sorrow  done, 
Shoulder'd  his  crutch,  and  show'd  how  fields  were  won. 
Pleased  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learned  to  glow. 
And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe  ; 


22  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 
His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began." 

The  family  of  the  worthy  pastor  consisted  of  five  sons  and 
three  daughters.  Henry,  the  eldest,  was  the  good  man's  pride 
and  hope,  and  he  tasked  his  slender  means  to  the  utmost  in  edu- 
cating him  for  a  learned  and  distinguished  career.  Oliver  was 
the  second  son,  and  seven  years  younger  than  Henry,  who  was 
the  guide  and  protector  of  his  childhood,  and  to  whom  he  was 
most  tenderly  attached  throughout  life. 

Oliver's  education  began  when  he  was  about  three  years  old ; 
that  is  to  say,  he  was  gathered  under  the  wings  of  one  of  those 
good  old  motherly  dames,  found  in  every  village,  who  cluck  toge- 
ther the  whole  callow  brood  of  the  neighborhood,  to  teach  them 
their  letters  and  keep  them  out  of  harm's  way.  Mistress  Eliza- 
beth Delap,  for  that  was  her  name,  flourished  in  this  capacity  for 
upward  of  fifty  years,  and  it  was  the  pride  and  boast  of  her  de- 
clining days,  when  nearly  ninety  years  of  age,  that  she  was  the 
first  that  had  put  a  book  (doubtless  a  hornbook)  into  Goldsmith's 
hands.  Apparently  he  did  not  much  profit  by  it,  for.  she  con- 
fessed he  was  one  of  the  dullest  boys  she  had  ever  dealt  with, 
insomuch  that  she  had  sometimes  doubted  whether  it  was  possi- 
ble to  make  any  thing  of  him :  a  common  case  with  imaginative 
children,  who  are  apt  to  be  beguiled  from  the  dry  abstractions  of 
elementary  study  by  the  picturings  of  the  fancy. 

At  six  years  of  age  he  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  village 
schoolmaster,  one  Thomas  (or,  as  he  was  commonly  and  irrever- 
ently named,  Pa^dy)  Byrne,  a  capital  tutor  for  a  poet.  He  had 
been  educated  for  a  pedagogue,  but  had  enlisted  in  the  army, 
served  abroad  during  the  wars  of  Queen  Anne's  time,  and  risen 


PICTURE  OF  A  COUNTRY  PEDAGOGUE.  23 


to  tlie  rank  of  quartermaster  of  a  regiment  in  Spain.  At  the 
return  of  peace,  having  no  longer  exercise  for  the  sword,  he 
resumed  the  ferule,  and  drilled  the  urchin  populace  of  Lissoy. 
Goldsmith  is  supposed  to  have  had  him  and  his  school  in  view  in 
the  following  sketch  in  his  Deserted  Village  : 

'*  Beside  yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  the  way. 
With  blossom'd  furze  unprofitably  gay, 
There,  in  his  noisy  mansion,  skill'd  to  rule. 
The  village  master  taught  his  little  school ; 
A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view, 
I  knew  him  well,  and  every 'truant  knew: 
Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learn'd  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face  ; 
Full  well  they  laugh'd  with  cpunterfeited  ^lee 
At  all  his  jokesj  for  many  a  joke  had  he  ;  j 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper  circling  round, 
Convey'd  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frown'd : 
Yet  he  was  kind,  or,  if  severe  in  aught. 
The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault ; 
The  village  all  declared  how  much  he  knew, 
'Twas  certain  he  could  write  and  cipher  too ; 
Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides  presage. 
And  e'en  the  story  ran  that  he  could  guage : 
In  arguing,  too,  the  parson  own'd  his  skill. 
For,  e'en  though  vanquished,  he  could  argue  still ; 
While  words  of  learri~edlehgth"and  thund'ring  sound 
Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around — 
And  still  they  gazed,  and  still  the  wonder  grew. 
That  one  small  head  could  carry  all  he  knew." 

.  There  are  certain  whimsical  traits  in  the  character  of  Byrne, 
not  given  in  the  foregoing  sketch.     He  was  fond  of  talking  of 


24  OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 


his  vagabond  wanderings  in  foreign  lands,  and  had  brought  with 
him  from  the  wars  a  world  of  campaigning  stories,  of  which  he 
was  generally  the  hero,  and  which  he  would  deal  forth  to  his 
wondering  scholars  when  he  ought  to  have  been  teaching  them 
their  lessons.  These  travellers'  tales  had  a  powerful  effect  upon 
the  vivid  imagination  of  Goldsmith,  and  awakened  an  uncon- 
querable passion  for  wandering  and  seeking  adventure. 

Byrne  was,  moreover,  of  a  romantic  vein,  and  exceedingly 
superstitious.  He  was  deeply  versed  in  the  fairy  superstitions 
which  abound  in  Ireland,  all  which  he  professed  implicitly  to  be- 
lieve. Under  his  tuition  Groldismith  soon  became  almost  as  great 
a  proficient  in  fairy  lore.  From  this  branch  of  good-for-nothing 
knowledge,  his  studies,  by  an  easy  transition,  extended  to  the 
histories  of  robbers,  pirates,  smugglers,  and  the  whole  race  of 
Irish  rogues  and  rapparees.  Every  thing,  in  short,  that  savored 
of  romance,  fable,  and  adventure,  was  congenial  to  his  poetic 
mind,  and  took  instant  root  there ;  but  the  slow  plants  of  useful 
knowledge  were  apt  to  be  overrun,  if  not  choked,  by  the  weeds 
of  his  quick  imagination. 

Another  trait  of  his  motley  preceptor,  Byrne,  was  a  disposi- 
tion to  dabble  in  poetry,  and  this  likewise  was  caught  by  his 
pupil.  Before  he  was  eight  years  old  Goldsmith  had  contracted 
a  habit  of  scribbling  verses  on  small  scraps  of  paper,  which,  in  a 
little  while,  he  would  throw  into  the  fire.  A  few  of  these  sybil- 
line  leaves,  however,  were  rescued  from  the  flames  and  conveyed 
to  his  mother.  The  good  woman  read  them  with  a  mother's 
delight,  and  saw  at  once  that  her  son  was  a  genius  and  a  poet. 
From  that  time  she  beset  her  husband  with  solicitations  to  give 
the  boy  an  education  suitable  to  his  talents.  The  worthy  man 
was  already  straitened  by  the  costs  of  instruction  of  his  eldest 


HORNPIPE   AND  EPIGRAM.  25 


son  Henry,  and  had  intended  to  bring  his  second  son  up  to  a 
trade ;  but  the  mother  would  listen  to  no  such  thing ;  as  usual, 
her  influence  prevailed,  and  Oliver,  instead  of  being  instructed 
in  some  humble,  but  cheerful  and  gainful  handicraft,  was  devoted 
to  poverty  and  the  Muse. 

A  severe  attack  of  the  smallpox  caused  him  to  be  taken  from 
under  the  care  of  his  story-telling  preceptor,  Byrne.  His  malady 
had  nearly  proved  fatal,  and  his  face  remained  pitted  through 
life.  On  his  recovery  he  was  placed  under  the  charge  of  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Griffin,  schoolmaster  of  Elphin,  in  Roscommon,  and 
became  an  inmate  in  the  house  of  his  uncle,  John  Goldsmith, 
Esq.,  of  Ballyoughter,  in  that  vicinity.  He  now  entered  upon 
studies  of  a  higher  order,  but  without  making  any  uncommon 
progress.  Still  a  careless,  easy  facility  of  disposition,  an  amusing 
eccentricity  of  manners,  and  a  vein  of  quiet  and  peculiar  humor, 
rendered  him  a  general  favorite,  and  a  trifling  incident  soon  in- 
duced his  uncle's  family  to  concur  in  his  mother's  opinion  of  his 
genius. 

A  number  of  young  folks  had  assembled  at  his  uncle's  to 
dance.  One  of  the  company^  named  Cummings,  played  on  the 
violin.  In  the  course  of  the  evening  Oliver  undertook  a  horn- 
pipe. His  short  and  clumsy  figure,  and  his  face  pitted  and  dis- 
colored with  the  smallpox,  rendered  him  a  ludicrous  figure  in  the 
eyes  of  the  musician,  who  made  merry  at  his  expense,  dubbing 
him  his  little  iEsop.  Goldsmith  was  nettled  by  the  jest,  and. 
stopping  short  in  the  hornpipe,  exclaimed, 

"  Our  herald  hath  proclaimed  this  saying, 
See  jEsop  dancing,  and  his  monkey  playing." 

The  repartee  was  thought  wonderful  for  a  boy  of  nine  years 

2 


S6  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


old,  and  Oliver  became  forthwith  the  wit  and  the  bright  genius 
of  the  family.  It  was  thought  a  pity  he  should  not  receive  the 
same  advantages  with  his  elder  brother  Henry,  who  had  been 
sent  to  the  University ;  and,  as  his  father's  circumstances  would 
not  afford  it,  several  of  his  relatives,  spurred  on  by  the  repre- 
sentations of  his  mother,  agreed  to  contribute  towards  the 
expense.  The  greater  part,  however,  was  borne  by  his  uncle,  the 
Rev.  Thomas  Contarine.  This  worthy  man  had  been  the  college 
companion  of  Bishop  Berkeley,  and  was  possessed  of  moderate 
means,  holding  the  living  of  Carrick-on-Shannon.  He  had  mar- 
ried the  sister  of  Goldsmith's  father,  but  was  now  a  widower, 
with  an  only  child,  a  daughter,  named  Jane.  Contarine  was  a 
kind-hearted  man,  with  a  generosity  beyond  his  means.  He  took 
Goldsmith  into  favor  from  his  infancy ;  his  house  was  open  to 
him  during  the  holidays ;  his  daughter  Jane,  two  years  older 
than  the  poet,  was  his  early  playmate :  and  uncle  Contarine  con- 
tinued to  the  last  one  of  his  most  active,  unwavering,  and  gene- 
rous friends. 

Fitted  out  in  a  great  measure  by  this  considerate  relative, 
Oliver  was  now  transferred  to  scliools  of  a  higher  order,  to  pre- 
pare him  for  the  University ;  first  to  one  at  Athlone,  kept  by  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Campbell,  and,  at  the  end  of  two  years,  to  one  at  Edge- 
worthstown,  under  the  superintendence  of  the  Rev.  Patrick 
Hughes. 

Even  at  these  schools  his  proficiency  does  not  appear  to 
have  been  brilliant.  He  was  indolent  and  careless,  however, 
rather  than  dull,  and,  on  the  whole,  appears  to  have  been  well 
thought  of  by  his  teachers.  In  his  studies  he  inclined  towards 
the  Latin  poets  and  historians ;  relished  Ovid  and  Horace,  and 
delighted  in  Livy.     He  exercised  himself  with  pleasure  in  read- 


SCHOOL   PRANKS.  27 


ing  and  translating  Tacitus,  and  was  brought  to  pay  attention  to 
style  in  his  compositions  by  a  reproof  from  his  brother  Henry,  to 
whom  he  had  written  brief  and  confused  letters,  and  who  told 
him  in  reply,  that  if  he  had  but  little  to  say,  to  endeavor  to  say 
that  little  well. 

The  career  of  his  brother  Henry  at  the  University  was 
enough  to  stimulate  him  to  exertion.  He  seemed  to  be  realizing 
all  his  father's  hopes,  and  was  winning  collegiate  honors  that  the 
good  man  considered  indicative  of  his  future  success  in  life. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Oliver,  if  not  distinguished  among  his 
teachers,  was  popular  among  his  schoolmates.  He  had  a  thought- 
less generosity  extremely  captivating  to  young  hearts  :  his  tem- 
per was  quick  and  sensitive,  and  easily  offended ;  but  his  anger 
was  momentary,  and  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  harbor  resent- 
ment. He  was  the  leader  of  all  boyish  sports  and  athletic 
amusements,  especially  ball-playing,  and  he  was  foremost  in 
all  mischievous  pranks.  Many  years  afterward,  an  old  man, 
Jack  Fitzimmons,  one  of  the  directors  of  the  sports  and  keeper 
of  the  ball-court  at  Ballymahon,  used  to  boast  of  having  been 
schoolmate  of  "Noll  Groldsmith,"  as  he  called  him,  and  would 
dwell  with  vainglory  on  one  of  their  exploits,  in  robbing  the 
orchard  of  Tirlicken,  an  old  family  residence  of  Lord  Annaly. 
The  exploit,  however,  had  nearly  involved  disastrous  conse- 
quences ;  for  the  crew  of  juvenile  depredators  were  captured, 
like  Shakspeare  and  his  deer-stealing  colleagues  ;  and  ncTthing  but 
the  respectability  of  Groldsmith's  connections  saved  him  from  the 
punishment  that  would  have  awaited  more  plebeian  delinquents. 

An  amusing  incident  is  related  as  occurring  in  Goldsmith's 
last  journey  homeward  from  Edgeworthstown.  His  father's 
house  was  about  twenty  miles  distant ;  the  road  lay  through  a 


28  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

rough  country,  impassable  for  carriages.  Groldsmith  procured  a 
horse  for  the  journey,  and  a  friend  furnished  him  with  a  guinea 
for  travelling  expenses.  He  was  but  a  stripling  of  sixteen,  and 
being  thus  suddenly  mounted  on  horseback,  with  money  in  his 
pocket,  it  is  no  wonder  that  his  head  was  turned.  He  deter- 
mined to  play  the  man,  and  to  spend  his  money  in  independent 
traveller's  style.  Accordingly,  instead  of  pushing  directly  for 
home,  he  halted  for  the  night  at  the  little  town  of  Ardagh,  and, 
accosting  the  first  person  he  met,  inquired,  with  somewhat  of  a 
consequential  air,  for  the  best  house  in  the  place.  Unluckily,  the 
person  he  had  accosted  was  one  Kelly,  a  notorious  wag,  who  was 
quartered  in  the  famil}''  of  one  Mr.  Featherstone,  a  gentleman  of 
fortune.  Amused  with  the  self-consequence  of  the  stripling,  and 
willing  to  play  off  a  practical  joke  at  his  expense,  he  directed 
him  to  what  was  literally  "  the  best  house  in  the  place,"  namely, 
the  family  mansion  of  Mr.  Featherstone.  Goldsmith  accordingly 
rode  up  to  what  he  supposed  to  be  an  inn.  ordered  his  horse  to 
be  taken  to  the  stable,  walked  into  the  parlor,  seated  himself  by 
the  fire,  and  demanded  what  he  could  have  for  supper.  On  ordi- 
nary occasions  he  was  difl&dent  and  even  awkward  in  his  manners, 
but  here  he  was  "  at  ease  in  his  inn,"  and  felt  called  upon  to 
show  his  manhood  and  enact  the  experienced  traveller.  His 
person  was  by  no  means  calculated  to  play  off  his  pretensions, 
for  he  was  short  and  thick,  with  a  pock-marked  face,  and  an  air 
and  carriage  by  no  means  of  a  distinguished  cast.  The  owner 
of  the  house,  however,  soon  discovered  his  whimsical  mistake, 
and,  being  a  man  of  humor,  determined  to  indulge  it,  especially 
as  he  accidentally  learned  that  this  intruding  guest  was  the  son 
of  an  old  acquaintance. 

Accordingly,  Goldsmith  was  "  fooled  to  the  top  of  his  bent," 


MISTAKES  OF  A  NIGHT.  29 


and  permitted  to  have  full  sway  throughout  the  evening.  Never 
was  schoolboy  more  elated.  When  supper  was  served,  he  most 
condescendingly  insisted  that  the  landlord,  his  wife  and  daughter 
should  partake,  and  ordered  a  bottle  of  wine  to  crown  the  repast 
and  benefit  the  house.  His  last  flourish  was  on  going  to  bed, 
when  he  gave  especial  orders  to  have  a  hot  cake  at  breakfast. 
His  confusion  and  dismay,  on  discovering  the  next  morning  that 
he  had  been  swaggering  in  this  free  and  easy  way  in  the  house 
of  a  private  gentleman,  may  be  readily  conceived.  True  to  his 
habit  of  turning  the  events  of  his  life  to  literary  account,  we 
find  this  chapter  of  ludicrous  blunders  and  cross  purposes  drama- 
tized many  years  afterward  in  his  admirable  comedy  of  "  She 
Stoops  to  Conquer,  or  the  Mistakes  of  a  Night." 


30  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Improvident  marriages  in  the  Goldsmith  family. — Goldsmith  at  the  univer- 
sity.— Situation  of  a  sizer. — Tyranny  of  Wilder,  the  tutor. — Pecuniary 
straits. — Street  ballads. — College  riot. — Gallows  Walsh. — College  prize. — 
A  dance  interrupted. 

While  Oliver  was  making  his  way  somewhat  negligently  through 
the  schools,  his  elder  brother  Henry  was  rejoicing  his  father's 
heart  by  his  career  at  the  University.  He  soon  distinguished 
himself  at  the  examinations,  and  obtained  a  scholarship  in  1743. 
This  is  a  collegiate  distinction  which  serves  as  a  stepping-stone  in 
any  of  the  learned  professions,  and  which  leads  to  advancement 
in  the  University  should  the  individual  choose  to  remain  there. 
His  father  now  trusted  that  he  would  push  forward  for  that  com- 
fortable provision,  a  fellowship,  and  thence  to  higher  dignities  and 
emoluments.  Henry,  however,  had  the  improvidence  or  the 
'•  unworldliness  "  of  his  race :  returning  to  the  country  during 
the  succeeding  vacation,  he  married  for  love,  relinquished,  of 
course,  all  his  collegiate  prospects  and  advantages,  set  up  a 
school  in  his  father's  neighborhood,  and  buried  his  talents  and 
acquirements  for  the  remainder  of  his  life  in  a  curacy  of  forty 
pounds  a  year. 

Another  matrimonial  event  occurred  not  long  afterward  in 
the  Goldsmith  family,  to  disturb  the  equanimity  of  its  worthy 


THE  HODSON  MARRIAGE.  31 


head.  This  was  the  clandestine  marriage  of  his  daughter  Cathe- 
rine with  a  young  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Hodson,  who  had 
been  confided  to  the  care  of  her  brother  Henry  to  complete  his 
studies.  As  the  youth  was  of  wealthy  parentage,  it  was  thought 
a  lucky  match  for  the  Goldsmith  family ;  but  the  tidings  of  the 
event  stung  the  bride's  father  to  the  soul.  Proud  of  his  integ- 
rity, and  jealous  of  that  good  name  which  was  his  chief  posses- 
sion, he  saw  himself  and  his  family  subjected  to  the  degrading 
suspicion  of  having  abused  a  trust  reposed  in  them  to  promote  a 
mercenary  match.  In  the  first  transports  of  his  feelings,  he  ia 
said  to  have  uttered  a  wish  that  his  daughter  might  never  have  a 
child  to  bring  like  shame  and  sorrow  on  her  head.  The  hasty 
wish,  so  contrary  to  the  usual  benignity  of  the  man,  was  recalled 
and  repented  of  almost  as  soon  as  uttered ;  but  it  was  considered 
baleful  in  its  effects  by  the  superstitious  neighborhood ;  for, 
though  his  daughter  bore  three  children,  they  all  died  before 
her. 

A  more  efifectual  measure  was  taken  by  Mr.  Goldsmith  to 
ward  off  the  apprehended  imputation,  but  one  which  imposed  a 
heavy  burden  on  his  family.  This  was  to  furnish  a  marriage  por- 
tion of  four  hundred  pounds,  that  his  daughter  might  not  be 
said  to  have  entered  her  husband's  family  empty-handed.  To 
raise  the  sum  in  cash  was  impossible ;  but  he  assigned  to  Mr. 
Hodson  his  little  farm  and  the  income  of  his  tithes  until  the 
marriage  portion  should  be  paid.  In  the  meantime,  as  his  living 
did  not  amount  to  £200  per  annum,  he  had  to  practise  the  strict- 
est economy  to  pay  off  gradually  this  heavy  tax  incurred  by  his 
nice  sense  of  honor. 

The  first  of  his  family  to  feel  the  effects  of  this  economy  was 
Oliver.     The  time  had  now  arrived  for  him  to  be  sent  to  the 


32  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


University;  and,  accordingly,  on  the  1 1th  June,  1747,  when  sixteen 
years  of  age,  he  entered  Trinity  College,  Dublin ;  but  his  father 
was  no  longer  able  to  place  him  there  as  a  pensioner,  as  he  had 
done  his  eldest  son  Henry  ;  he  was  obliged,  therefore,  to  enter 
him  as  a  sizer,  or  "  poor  scholar."  He  was  lodged  in  one  of  the 
top  rooms  adjoining  the  library  of  the  building,  numbered  35, 
where  it  is  said  his  name  may  still  be  seen,  scratched  by  himself 
upon  a  window  frame. 

A  student  of  this  class  is  taught  and  boarded  gratuitously, 
and  has  to  pay  but  a  very  small  sum  for  his  room.  It  is  ex- 
pected, in  return  for  these  advantages,  that  he  will  be  a  diligent 
student,  and  render  himself  useful  in  a  variety  of  ways.  In 
Trinity  College,  at  the  time  of  Goldsmith's  admission,  several 
derogatory,  and,  indeed,  menial  offices  were  exacted  from  the 
sizer,  as  if  the  college  sought  to  indemnify  itself  for  conferring 
benefits  by  inflicting  indignities.  He  was  obliged  to  sweep  part 
of  the  courts  in  the  morning ;  to  carry  up  the  dishes  from  the 
kitchen  to  the  fellows'  table,  and  to  wait  in  the  hall  until  that 
body  had  dined.  His  very  dress  marked  the  inferiority  of  the 
"  poor  student  "  to  his  happier  classmates.  It  was  a  black  gown 
of  coarse  stuff  without  sleeves,  and  a  plain  black  cloth  cap  with- 
out a  tassel.  We  can  conceive  nothing  more  odious  and  ill- 
judged  than  these  distinctions,  which  attached  the  idea  of  degra- 
dation to  poverty,  and  placed  the  indigent  youth  of  merit  below 
the  worthless  minion  of  fortune.  They  were  calculated  to  wound 
and  irritate  the  noble  mind,  and  to  render  the  base  mind  baser. 

Indeed,  the  galling  effect  of  these  servile  tasks  upon  youths 
of  proud  spirits  and  quick  sensibilities  became  at  length  too 
notorious  to  be  disregarded.  About  fifty  years  since,  on  a 
Trinity  Sunday,  a  number  of  persons  were  assembled  to  witness 


INDIGNITIES  OF  A  "POOR  STUDENT."  33 


the  college  ceremonies  ;  and  as  a  sizer  was  carrying  up  a  dish  of 
meat  to  the  fellows'  table,  a  burly  citizen  in  the  crowd  made 
some  sneering  observation  on  the  servility  of  his  office.  Stung 
to  the  quick,  the  high-spirited  youth  instantly  flung  the  dish  and 
ts  contents  at  the  head  of  the  sneerer.  The  sizer  was  sharply  re- 
primanded for  this  outbreak  of  wounded  pride,  but  the  degrading 
task  was  from  that  day  forward  very  properly  consigned  to 
menial  hands. 

It  was  with  the  utmost  repugnance  that  Groldsmith  entered 
college  in  this  capacity.  His  shy  and  sensitive  nature  was 
affected  by  the  inferior  station  he  was  doomed  to  hold  among  his 
gay  and  opulent  fellow-students,  and  he  became,  at  times,  moody 
and  despondent.  A  recollection  of  these  early  mortifications 
induced  him,  in  after  years,  most  strongly  to  dissuade  his  brother 
Henry,  the  clergyman,  from  sending  a  son  to  college  on  a  like 
footing.  "  If  he  has  ambition,  strong  passions,  and  an  exquisite 
sensibility  of  contempt,  do  not  send  him  there,  unless  you  have 
no  other  trade  for  him  except  your  own." 

To  add  to  his  annoyances,  the  fellow  of  the  college  who  had 
the  peculiar  control  of  his  studies,  the  Rev.  Theaker  Wilder, 
was  a  man  of  violent  and  capricious  temper,  and  of  diametrically 
opposite  tastes.  The  tutor  was  devoted  to  the  exact  sciences ; 
Goldsmith  was  for  the  classics.  Wilder  endeavored  to  force  his 
favorite  studies  upon  the  student  by  harsh  means,  suggested  by 
his  own  coarse  and  savage  nature.  He  abused  him  in  presence 
of  the  class  as  ignorant  and  stupid ;  ridiculed  him  as  awkward 
and  ugly,  and  at  times  in  the  transports  of  his  temper  indulged 
in  personal  violence.  The  effect  was  to  aggravate  a  passive  dis- 
taste into  a  positive  aversion.  Goldsmith  was  loud  in  expressing 
his  contempt  for  mathematics  and  his  dislike  of  ethics  and  logic  ; 


34  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


and  the  prejudices  thus  imbibed  continued  through  life.  Mathe- 
matics he  always  pronounced  a  science  to  which  the  meanest 
intellects  were  competent. 

A  truer  cause  of  this  distaste  for  the  severer  studies  may 
probably  be  found  in  his  natural  indolence  and  his  love  of  convi- 
vial pleasures.  "  I  was  a  lover  of  mirth,  good-humor,  and  even 
sometimes  of  fun,"  said  he,  "  from  my  childhood."  He  sang  a 
good  song,  was  a  boon  companion,  and  could  not  resist  any  tempta- 
tion to  social  enjoyment.  He  endeavored  to  persuade  himself 
that  learning  and  dulncss  went  hand  in  hand,  and  that  genius 
was  not  to  be  put  in  harness.  Even  in  riper  years,  when  the 
consciousness  of  his  own  deficiencies  ought  to  have  convinced  him 
of  the  importance  of  early  study,  he  speaks  slightingly  of  col- 
lege honors. 

"  A  lad,"  says  he,  "  whose  passions  are  not  strong  enough  in 
youth  to  mislead  him  from  that  path  of  science  which  his  tutors, 
and  not  his  inclination,  have  chalked  out,  by  four  or  five  years' 
perseverance  will  probably  obtain  every  advantage  and  honor  his 
college  can  bestow.  I  would  compare  the  man  whose  youth  has 
been  thus  passed  in  the  tranquillity  of  dispassionate  prudence,  to 
liquors  that  never  ferment,  and,  consequently,  continue  always 
muddy." 

The  death  of  his  worthy  father,  which  took  place  early  in 
1747,  rendered  Goldsmith's  situation  at  college  extremely  irk- 
some. His  mother  was  left  with  little  more  than  the  means  of 
providing  for  the  wants  of  her  household,  and  was  unable  to  fur- 
nish him  any  remittances.  He  would  have  been  compelled, 
therefore,  to  leave  college,  had  it  not  been  for  the  occasional 
contributions  of  friends,  the  foremost  among  whom  was  his  gene- 
rous and  warm-hearted   uncle  Contarine.     Still  these  supplies 


PECUNIARY   STRAITS.  35 


were  so  scanty  and  precarious,  that  in  the  intervals  between  them 
he  was  put  to  great  straits.  He  had  two  college  associates  from 
whom  he  would  occasionally  borrow  small  sums ;  one  was  an 
early  schoolmate,  by  the  name  of  Beatty  ;  the  other  a  cousin,  and 
the  chosen  companion  of  his  frolicks,  Robert  (or  rather  Bob) 
Bryanton,  of  Ballymulvey  House,  near  Ballymahon.  When 
these  casual  supplies  failed  him  he  was  more  than  once  obliged  to 
raise  funds  for  his  immediate  wants  by  pawning  his  books.  At 
times  he  sank  into  despondency,  but  he  had  what  he  termed 
"a  knack  at  hoping,"  which  soon  buoyed  him  up  again.  He 
began  now  to  resort  to  his  poetical  vein  as  a  source  of  profit,  scrib- 
bling street-ballads,  which  he  privately  sold  for  five  shillings  each 
at  a  shop  which  dealt  in  such  small  wares  of  literature.  He 
felt  an  author's  affection  for  these  unowned  bantlings,  and  we 
are  told  would  stroll  privately  through  the  streets  at  night  to 
hear  them  sung,  listening  to  the  comments  and  criticisms  of  by- 
standers, and  observing  the  degree  of  applause  which  each 
received. 

Edmund  Burke  was  a  fellow-student  with  Goldsmith  at  the 
college.  Neither  the  statesman  nor  the  poet  gave  promise  of  their 
future  celebrity,  though  Burke  certainly  surpassed  his  contempo- 
rary in  industry  and  application,  and  evinced  more  disposition 
for  self-improvement,  associating  himself  with  a  number  of  his 
fellow-students  in  a  debating  club,  in  which  they  discussed 
literary  topics,  and  exercised  themselves  in  composition. 

Goldsmith  may  likewise  have  belonged  to  this  association,  but 
his  propensity  was  rather  to  mingle  with  the  gay  and  thought- 
less. On  one  occasion  we  find  him  implicated  in  an  affair  that 
came  nigh  producing  his  expulsion.  A  report  was  brought  to 
college  that  a  scholar  was  in  the  hands  of  the  bailiffs.     This 


36  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

was  an  insult  in  which  every  gownsman  felt  himself  involved. 
A  number  of  the  scholars  flew  to  arms,  and  sallied  forth  to  battle, 
headed  by  a  hair-brained  fellow  nicknamed  Gallows  Walsh,  noted 
for  his  aptness  at  mischief  and  fondness  for  riot.  The  strong- 
hold of  the  bailiff"  was  carried  by  storm,  the  scholar  set  at  liberty, 
and  the  delinquent  catchpole  borne  ojGf  captive  to  the  college, 
where,  having  no  pump  to  put  him  under,  they  satisfied  the 
demands  of  collegiate  law  by  ducking  him  in  an  old  cistern. 

Flushed  with  this  signal  victory.  Gallows  Walsh  now  harangued 
his  followers,  and  proposed  to  break  open  Newgate,  or  the  Black 
Dog,  as  the  prison  was  called,  and  eff"ect  a  general  jail  delivery. 
He  was  answered  by  shouts  of  concurrence,  and  away  went  the 
throng  of  madcap  youngsters,  fully  bent  upon  putting  an  end  to 
the  tyranny  of  law.  They  were  joined  by  the  mob  of  the  city, 
and  made  an  attack  upon  the  prison  with  true  Irish  precipitation 
and  thoughtlessness,  never  having  provided  themselves  with  can- 
non to  batter  its  stone  walls.  A  few  shots  from  the  prison 
brought  them  to  their  senses,  and  they  beat  a  hasty  retreat,  two 
of  the  townsmen  being  killed,  and  several  wounded. 

A  severe  scrutiny  of  this  aff'air  took  place  at  the  University. 
Four  students,  who  had  been  ringleaders,  were  expelled  ;  four 
others,  who  had  been  prominent  'in  the  afi'ray,  were  publicly  ad- 
monished ;  among  the  latter  was  the  unlucky  Goldsmith. 

To  make  up  for  this  disgrace,  he  gained,  within  a  month 
afterward,  one  of  the  minor  prizes  of  the  college.  It  is  true  it 
was  one  of  the  very  smallest,  amounting  in  pecuniary  value  to 
but  thirty  shillings,  but  it  was  the  first  distinction  he  had  gained 
I  in  his  whole  collegiate  career.  This  turn  of  success  and  sudden 
'  influx  of  wealth  proved  too  much  for  the  head  of  our  poor 
student.     He  forthwith  gave  a  supper  and  dance  at  his  chamber 


TYRANNY  OF  WILDER, 


to  a  number  of  young  persons  of  both  sexes  from  the  city,  in 
direct  violation  of  college  rules.  The  unwonted  sound  of  the 
fiddle  reached  the  ears  of  the  implacable  Wilder.  He  rushed  to 
the  scene  of  unhallowed  festivity,  inflicted  corporal  punishment 
on  the  "  father  of  the  feast,"  and  turned  his  astonished  guests 
neck  and  heels  out  of  doors. 

This  filled  the  measure  of  poor  Groldsmith's  humiliations  ;  he 
felt  degraded  both  within  college  and  without.  He  dreaded  the 
ridicule  of  his  fellow-students  for  the  ludicrous  termination  of 
his  orgie,  and  he  was  ashamed  to  meet  his  city  acquaintances 
after  the  degrading  chastisement  received  in  their  presence, 
and  after  their  own  ignominious  expulsion.  Above  all,  he  felt 
it  impossible  to  submit  any  longer  to  the  insulting  tyranny 
of  Wilder:  he  determined,  therefore,  to  leave,  not  merely  the 
college,  but  also  his  native  land,  and  to  bury  what  he  conceived 
to  be  his  irretrievable  disgrace  in  some  distant  country.  He  ac- 
cordingly sold  his^  books  and  clothes,  and  sallied  forth  from  the 
college  walls  the  very  next  day,  intending  to  embark  at  Cork  for 
— he  scarce  knew  where — America,  or  any  other  part  beyond  sea. 
With  his  usual  heedless  imprudence,  however,  he  loitered  about 
Dublin  until  his  finances  were  reduced  to  a  shilling ;  with  this 
amount  of  specie  he  set  out  on  his  journey. 

For  three  whole  days  he  subsisted  on  his  shilling ;  when  that 
was  spent,  he  parted  with  some  of  the  clothes  from  his  back,  un- 
til, reduced  almost  to  nakedness,  he  was  four-and-twenty  hours 
without  food,  insomuch  that  he  declared  a  handful  of  gray  pease, 
given  to  him  by  a  girl  at  a  wake,  was  one  of  the  most  delicious 
repasts  he  had  ever  tasted.  Hunger,  fatigue,  and  destitution 
brought  down  his  spirit  and  calmed  his  anger.  Fain  would  he 
have  retraced  his  steps,  could  he  have  done  so  with  any  salvo  for 


38  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


the  lingerings  of  his  pride.  In  his  extremity  he  conveyed  to  his 
brother  Henry  information  of  his  distress,  and  of  the  rash  pro- 
ject on  which  he  had  set  out  His  affectionate  brother  hastened 
to  his  relief;  furnished  him  with  money  and  clothes ;  soothed  his 
feelings  with  gentle  counsel ;  prevailed  upon  him  to  return  to 
college,  and  effected  an  indifferent  reconciliation  between  him 
and  Wilder. 

After  this  irregular  sally  upon  life  he  remained  nearly  two 
years  longer  at  the  University,  giving  proofs  of  talent  in  occa- 
sional translations  from  the  classics,  for  one  of  which  he  received 
a  premium,  awarded  only  to  those  who  are  the  first  in  literary 
merit.  Still  he  never  made  much  figure  at  college,  his  natural 
disinclination  to  study  being  increased  by  the  harsh  treatment 
he  continued  to  experience  from  his  tutor. 

Among  the  anecdotes  told  of  him  while  at  college  is  one  indi- 
cative of  that  prompt,  but  thoughtless  and  often  whimsical  bene- 
volence which  throughout  life  formed  one  of  the  most  eccentric, 
yet  endearing  points  of  his  character.  He  was  engaged  to  break- 
fast one  day  with  a  college  intimate,  but  failed  to  make  his  appear- 
ance. His  friend  repaired  to  his  room,  knocked  at  the  door,  and 
was  bidden  to  enter.  To  his  surprise,  he  found  Goldsmith  in 
his  bed,  immersed  to  his  chin  in  feathers.  A  serio-comic  story 
explained  the  circumstance.  In  the  course  of  the  preceding  even- 
ing's stroll  he  had  met  with  a  woman  with  five  children,  who  im- 
plored his  charity.  Her  husband  was  in  the  hospital ;  she  was 
just  from  the  country,  a  stranger,  and  destitute,  without  food  or 
shelter  for  her  helpless  offspring.  This  was  too  much  for  the 
kind  heart  of  Goldsmith.  He  was  almost  as  poor  as  herself,  it  is 
true,  and  had  no  money  in  his  pocket ;  but  he  brought  her  to  the 
college  gate,  gave  her  the  blankets  from  his  bed  to  cover  her  lit- 


the^tudGmt'S  return  home. 


:mvs 


tie  brood,  and  part  of  his  clothes  for  her  to  sell  and  purchase 
food  ;  and,  finding  himself  cold  during  the  night,  had  cut  open 
his  bed  and  buried  himself  among  the  feathers. 

At  length,  on  the  27th  of  February,  1749,  0.  S.,  he  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts,  and  took  his  final 
leave  of  the  University.  He  was  freed  from  college  rule,  that 
emancipation  so  ardently  coveted  by  the  thoughtless  student,  and 
which  too  generally  launches  him  amid  the  cares,  the  hardships, 
and  vicissitudes  of  life.  He  was  freed,  too,  from  the  brutal 
tyranny  of  Wilder.  If  his  kind  and  placable  nature  could  re- 
tain any  resentment  for  past  injuries,  it  might  have  been  gratified 
by  learning  subsequently  that  the  passionate  career  of  Wilder 
was  terminated  by  a  violent  death  in  the  course  of  a  dissolute 
brawl ;  but  Goldsmith  took  no  delight  in  the  misfortunes  even 
of  his  enemies. 

He  now  returned  to  his  friends,  no  longer  the  student  to 
sport  away  the  happy  interval  of  vacation,  but  the  anxious  man, 
who  is  henceforth  to  shift  for  himself  and  make  his  way  through 
the  world.  In  fact,  he  had  no  legitimate  home  to  return  to.  At 
the  death  of  his  father,  the  paternal  house  at  Lissoy,  in  which 
Goldsmith  had  passed  his  childhood,  had  been  taken  by  Mr. 
Hodson,  who  had  married  his  sister  Catherine.  His  mother  had 
removed  to  Ballymahon,  where  she  occupied  a  small  house,  and 
had  to  practise  the  severest  frugality.  His  elder  brother  Henry 
served  the  curacy  and  taught  the  school  of  his  late  father's 
parish,  and  lived  in  narrow  circumstances  at  Goldsmith's  birth- 
place, the  old  goblin-house  at  Pallas. 

None  of  his  relatives  were  in  circumstances  to  aid  him  with 
any  thing  more  than  a  temporary  home,  and  the  aspect  of  every 
one  seemed  somewhat  changed.     In  fact,  hia  career  at  college 


40  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH, 


DLDgl 


had  disappointed  his  friends,  and  they  began  to  doubt  his  being 
the  great  genius  they  had  fancied  him.  He  whimsically  alludes 
to  this  circumstance  in  that  piece  of  autobiography,  "  The  Man 
in  Black,"  in  the  Citizen  of  the  World. 
i  "  The  first  opportunity  my  father  had  of  finding  his  expecta- 
tions disappointed  was  in  the  middling  figure  I  made  at  the 
University :  he  had  flattered  himself  that  he  should  soon  see  me 
rising  into  the  foremost  rank  in  literary  reputation,  but  was 
mortified  to  find  me  utterly  unnoticed  and  unknown.  His  disap- 
pointment might  have  been  partly  ascribed  to  his  having  over- 
rated my  talents,  and  partly  to  my  dislike  of  mathematical  reason- 
ings at  a  time  when  my  imagination  and  memory,  yet  unsatisfied, 
were  more  eager  after  new  objects  than  desirous  of  reasoning 
upon  those  I  knew.  This,  however,  did  not  please  my  tutors, 
who  observed,  indeed,  that  I  was  a  little  dull,  but  at  the  same 
time  allowed  that  I  seemed  to  be  very  good-natured,  and  had  no 
harm  in  me."* 

The  only  one  of  his  relatives  who  did  not  appear  to  lose 
faith  in  him  was  his  uncle  Contarine.  This  kind  and  considerate 
man,  it  is  said,  saw  in  him  a  warmth  of  heart  requiring  some 
skill  to  direct,  and  a  latent  genius  that  wanted  time  to  mature, 
and  these  impressions  none  of  his  subsequent  follies  and  irregu- 
larities wholly  obliterated.  His  purse  and  affection,  therefore,  as 
well  as  his  house,  were  now  open  to  him,  and  he  became  his  chief 
counsellor  and  director  after  his  father's  death.  He  urged  him 
to  prepare  for  holy  orders  ;  and  others  of  his  relatives  concurred 
in  the  advice.  Goldsmith  had  a  settled  repugnance  to  a  clerical 
life.     This  has  been  ascribed  by  some  to  conscientious  scruples, 

*  Citizen  of  the  World,  letter  xxvii. 


LIFE  AT  LISSOY.  41 


not  considering  himself  of  a  temper  and  frame  of  mind  for  such 
a  sacred  office :  others  attributed  it  to  his  roving  propensities, 
and  his  desire  to  visit  foreign  countries  ;  he  himself  gives  a  whim- 
sical objection  in  his  biography  of  the  "  Man  in  Black  :" — "  To 
be  obliged  to  wear  a  long  wig  when  I  liked  a  short  one,  or  a  black 
coat  when  I  generally  dressed  in  brown,  I  thought  such  a  re- 
straint upon  my  liberty  that  I  absolutely  rejected  the  proposal." 
In  eiFect,  however,  his  scruples  were  overruled,  and  he  agreed 
to  qualify  himself  for  the  office.  He  was  now  only  twenty-one, 
and  must  pass  two  years  of  probation.  They  were  two  years  of 
rather  loitering  unsettled  life.  Sometimes  he  was  at  Lissoy,  parti- 
cipating with  thoughtless  enjoyment  in  the  rural  sports  and  occu- 
pations of  his  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Hodson ;  sometimes  he  was 
with  his  brother  Henry,  at  the  old  goblin  mansion  at  Pallas,  as- 
sisting him  occasionally  in  his  school.  The  early  marriage  and 
unambitious  retirement  of  Henry,  though  so  subversive  of  the 
fond  plans  of  his  father,  had  proved  happy  in  their  results.  He 
was  already  surrounded  by  a  blooming  family ;  he  was  contented 
with  his  lot,  beloved  by  his  parishioners,  and  lived  in  the  daily 
practice  of  all  the  amiable  virtues,  and  the  immediate  enjoy- 
ment of  their  reward.  Of  the  tender  affection  inspired  in  the 
breast  of  Groldsmith  by  the  constant  kindness  of  this  excellent 
brother,  and  of  the  longing  recollection  with  which,  in  the  lonely 
wanderings  of  after  years,  he  looked  back  upon  this  scene  of  do- 
mestic felicity,  we  have  a  touching  instance  in  the  well-known 
opening  to  his  poem  of  "  The  Traveller :" 

"  Remote,  unfriended,  melancholy  slow. 
Or  by  the  lazy  Schcld  or  wandering  Po  ; 


48  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


Where'er  I  roam,  whatever  realms  to  see. 
My  heart  untravell'd  fondly  turns  to  thee  ; 
Still  to  my  brother  turns  with  ceaseless  pain. 
And  drags  at  each  remove  a  lengthening  chain. 

Eternal  blessings  crown  my  earliest  friend. 

And  round  his  dwelling  guardian  saints  attend  ; 

Bless' d  be  that  spot,  where  cheerful  guests  retire 

To  pause  from  toil,  and  trim  their  evening  fire  ; 

Bless'd  that  abode,  where  want  and  pain  repair, 

And  every  stranger  finds  a  ready  chair  : 

Bless'd  be  those  feasts  with  simple  plenty  crown'd. 

Where  all  the  ruddy  family  around 

Laugh  at  the  jests  or  pranks  that  never  fail. 

Or  sigh  with  pity  at  some  mournful  tale  ; 

Or  press  the  bashful  stranger  to  his  food. 

And  learn  the  luxury  of  doing  good." 

During  this  loitering  life  Goldsmith  pursued  no  study,  but 
rather  amused  himself  with  miscellaneous  reading;  sucUas  bio- 
graphy, travels,  poetry,  novels,  plays — every  thing,  in  short,  that 
administered  to  the  imagination. )  Sometimes  he  strolled  along 
the  banks  of  the  river  Inny ;  where,  in  after  years,  when  he  had 
become  famous,  his  favorite  seats  and  haunts  used  to  be  pointed 
out.  Often  he  joined  in  the  rustic  sports  of  the  villagers,  and 
became  adroit  at  throwing  the  sledge,  a  favorite  feat  of  activity 
and  strength  in  Ireland.  Recollections  of  these  "healthful 
sports  "  we  find  in  his  "  Deserted  Village :" 

"  How  often  have  I  bless'd  the  coming  day. 
When  toil  remitting  lent  its  turn  to  play. 
And  all  the  village  train,  from  labor  free, 
Led  up  their  sports  beneath  the  sprejiding  tree : 


THE  CLUB  AT  BALLYMAHON. 


And  many  a  gambol  frolicked  o'er  the  ground, 

And  sleights  of  art  and  feats  of  strength  went  round." 

A  boon  companion  in  all  his  rural  amusements,  was  his 
cousin  and  college  crony,  Robert  Bryan  ton,  with  whom  he  so- 
journed occasionally  at  Ballymulvey  House  in  the  neighborhood. 
They  used  to  make  excursions  about  the  country  on  foot,  some- 
times fishing,  sometimes  hunting  otter  in  the  Inny.  They  got 
up  a  country  club  at  the  little  inn  of  Ballymahon,  of  which 
Goldsmith  soon  became  the  oracle  and  prime  wit ;  astonishing 
his  unlettered  associates  by  his  learning,  and  being  considered 
capital  at  a  song  and  a  story.  From  the  rustic  conviviality  of  the 
inn  at  Ballymahon,  and  the  company  which  used  to  assemble 
there,  it  is  surmised  that  he  took  some  hints  in  after  life  for  his 
picturing  of  Tony  Lumpkin  and  his  associates  :  "  Dick  Muggins, 
the  exciseman  ;  Jack  Slang,  th©'  horse  doctor ;  little  Aminidab, 
that  grinds  the  music  box,  and  Tom  Twist,  that  spins  the  pewter 
platter."  Nay,  it  is  thought  that  Tony's  drinking  song  at  the 
"  Three  Jolly  Pigeons,"  was  but  a  revival  of  one  of  the  convivial 
catches  at  Ballymahon : 


*  Then  come  put  the  jorum  about, 

And  let  us  be  merry  and  clever, 
Our  hearts  and  our  liquors  are  stout. 

Here's  the  Three  Jolly  Pigeons  for  ever.     " 
Let  some  cry  of  woodcock  or  hare. 

Your  bustards,  your  ducks,  and  your  widgeons. 
But  of  all  the  gay  birds  in  the  air. 

Here's  a  health  to  the  Three  Jolly  Pigeons. 
Toroddie,  toroddle,  toroU." 


44  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


Notwithstanding  all  these  accomplishments  and  this  rural 
popularity,  his  friends  began  to  shake  their  heads  and  shrug 
their  shoulders  when  they  spoke  of  him ;  and  his  brother  Henry 
noted  with  any  thing  but  satisfaction  his  frequent  visits  to  the 
club  at  Ballymahon.  He  emerged,  however,  unscathed  from  this 
dangerous  ordeal,  more  fortunate  in  this  respect  than  his  com- 
rade Bryanton  ;  but  he  retained  throughout  life  a  fondness  for 
clubs  :  often,  too,  in  the  course  of  his  checkered  career,  he  looked 
back  to  this  period  of  rural  sports  and  careless  enjoyments,  as 
one  of  the  few  sunny  spots  of  his  cloudy  life ;  and  though  he 
ultimately  rose  to  associate  with  birds  of  a  finer  feather,  his 
heart  would  still  yearn  in  secret  after  the  "  Three  Jolly 
Pigeons." 


GOLDSMITH   REJECTED  BY  THE  BISHOP.  45 


CHAPTER  III. 

Goldsmith  rejected  by  the  Bishop. — Second  sally  to  see  the  world. — Takes 
passage  for  America. — Ship  sails  without  him. — Return  on  Fiddle-back. — 
A  hospitable  friend. — The  Counsellor. 

The  time  was  now  arrived  for  Goldsmith  to  apply  for  orders,  and 
he  presented  himself  accordingly  before  the  Bishop  of  Elfin  for 
ordination.  "VYe  have  stated  his  great  objection  to  clerical  life, 
the  obligation  to  wear  a  black  coat ;  and,  whimsical  as  it  may 
appear,  dress  seems  in  fact  to  have  formed  an  obstacle  to  his  en- 
trance into  the  church.  He  had  ever  a  passion  for  clothing  his 
sturdy,  but  awkward  little  person  in  gay  colors ;  and  on  this 
solemn  occasion,  when  it  was  to  be  supposed  his  garb  would  be 
of  suitable  gravity,  he  appeared  luminously  arrayed  in  scarlet 
breeches  !  He  was  rejected  by  the  bishop  :  some  say  for  want  of 
sufiicient  studious  preparation ;  his  rambles  and  frolics  with 
Bob  Bryanton,  and  his  revels  with  the  club  at  Ballymahon, 
having  been  much  in  the  way  of  his  theological  studies ;  others 
attribute  his  rejection  to  reports  of  his  college  irregularities, 
which  the  Bishop  had  received  from  his  old  tyrant  Wilder  ;  but 
those  who  look  into  the  matter  with  more  knowing  eyes,  pro- 
nounce the  scarlet  breeches  to  have  been  the  fundamental  objec- 
tion. "  My  friends,"  says  Goldsmith,  speaking  through  his 
humorous  representative,  the  "  Man  in  Black  " — "  my  friends  were 


46  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

now  perfectly  satisfied  I  was  undone ;  and  yet  they  thought  it  a 
pity  for  one  that  had  not  the  least  harm  in  him,  and  was  so  very 
good-natured."  His  uncle  Contarine,  however,  still  remained  un- 
wavering in  his  kindness,  though  much  less  sanguine  in  his  expec- 
tations. He  now  looked  round  for  a  humbler  sphere  of  action,  and 
through  his  influence  and  exertions  Oliver  was  received  as  tutor 
in  the  family  of  a  Mr.  Flinn,  a  gentleman  of  the  neighborhood. 
The  situation  was  apparently  respectable  ;  he  had  his  seat  at  the 
table ;  and  joined  the  family  in  their  domestic  recreations  and 
their  evening  game  at  cards.  There  was  a  servility,  however,  in 
his  position,  which  was  not  to  his  taste :  nor  did  his  deference 
for  the  family  increase  upon  familiar  intercourse.  He  charged  a 
member  of  it  with  unfair  play  at  cards.  A  violent  altercation 
ensued,  which  ended  in  his  throwing  up  his  situation  as  tutor. 
On  being  paid  off  he  found  himself  in  possession  of  an  unheard 
of  amount  of  money.  His  wandering  propensity  and  his  desire 
to  see  the  world,  were  instantly  in  the  ascendency.  Without 
communicating  his  plans  or  intentions  to  his  friends,  he  procured 
a  good  horse,  and  with  thirty  pounds  in  his  pocket,  made  his 
second  sally  forth  into  the  world. 

The  worthy  niece  and  housekeeper  of  the  hero  of  La  Mancha 
could  not  have  been  more  surprised  and  dismayed  at  one  of  the 
Don's  clandestine  expeditions,  than  were  the  mother  and  friends 
of  Goldsmith  when  they  heard  of  his  mysterious  departure. 
Weeks  elapsed,  and  nothing  was  seen  or  heard  of  him.  It  was 
feared  that  he  had  left  the  country  on  one  of  his  wandering 
freaks,  and  his  poor  mother  was  reduced  almost  to  despair,  when 
one  day  he  arrived  at  her  door  almost  as  forlorn  in  plight  as  the 
prodigal  son.  Of  his  thirty  pounds  not  a  shilling  was  left ;  and, 
instead  of  the  goodly  steed  on  which  he  had  issued  forth  on  his 


RETURN  ON  FIDDLE-BACK. 


^ 


errantry,  he  was  mounted  on  a  sorry  little  pony,  which  he  had 
nicknamed  Fiddle-back.  As  soon  as  his  mother  was  well  assured 
of  his  safety,  she  rated  him  soundly  for  his  inconsiderate  con- 
duct. His  brothers  and  sisters,  who  were  tenderly  attached  to 
him,  interfered,  and  succeeded  in  mollifying  her  ire ;  and  what- 
ever lurking  anger  the  good  dame  might  have,  was  no  doubt 
eflfectually  vanquished  by  the  following  whimsical  narrative  which 
e  drew  up  at  his  brother's  house  and  dispatched  to  her: 

My  dear  mother,  if  you  will  sit  down  and  calmly  listen  to 
what  I  say,  you  shall  be  fully  resolved  in  every  one  of  those 
many  questions  you  have  asked  me.  I  went  to  Cork  and  con- 
verted my  horse,  which  you  prize  so  much  higher  than  Fiddle- 
back,  into  cash,  took  my  passage  in  a  ship  bound  for  America, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  paid  the  captain  for  my  freight  and  all  the 
other  expenses  of  my  voyage.  But  it  so  happened  that  the  wind 
did  not  answer  for  three  weeks ;  and  you  know,  mother,  that  I 
could  not  command  the  elements.  My  misfortune  was,  that, 
when  the  wind  served,  I  happened  to  be  with  a  party  in  the 
country,  and  my  friend  the  captain  never  inquired  after  me,  but 
set  sail  with  as  much  indifference  as  if  I  had  been  on  board. 
The  remainder  of  my  time  I  employed  in  the  city  and  its  envi- 
rons, viewing  every  thing  curious,  and  you  know  no  one  can 
starve  while  he  has  money  in  his  pocket. 

"  Reduced,  however,  to  my  last  two  guineas,  I  began  to  think 
of  my  dear  mother  and  friends  whom  I  had  left  behind  me,  and 
so  bought  that  generous  beast  Fiddle-back,  and  bade  adieu  to 
Cork  with  only  five  shillings  in  my  pocket.  This,  to  be  sure, 
was  but  a  scanty  allowance  for  man  and  horse  towards  a  journey 
of  above  a  hundred  miles  ;  but  I  did  not  despair,  for  I  knew  I 
must  find  friends  on  the  road. 

y 


48  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


"  I  recollected  particularly  an  old  and  faithful  acquaintance  I 
made  at  college,  who  had  often  and  earnestly  pressed  me  to  spend 
a  summer  with  him,  and  he  lived  but  eight  miles  from  Cork. 
This  circumstance  of  vicinity  he  would  expatiate  on  to  me  with 
peculiar  emphasis.  '  We  shall,'  says  he,  '  enjoy  the  delights  of 
both  city  and  country,  and  you  shall  command  my  stable  and  my 
purse.' 

"  However,  upon  the  way  I  met  a  poor  woman  all  in  tears, 
who  told  me  her  husband  had  been  arrested  for  a  debt  he  was 
not  able  to  pay,  and  that  his  eight  children  must  now  starve, 
bereaved  as  they  were  of  his  industry,  which  had  been  their  only 
support.  I  thought  myself  at  home,  being  not  far  from  my  good 
friend's  house,  and  therefore  parted  with  a  moiety  of  all  my  store; 
and  pray,  mother,  ought  I  not  have  given  her  the  other  half 
crown,  for  what  she  got  would  be  of  little  use  to  her  ?  However, 
I  soon  arrived  at  the  mansion  of  my  affectionate  friend,  guarded 
by  the  vigilance  of  a  huge  mastiff,  who  flew  at  me  and  would  have 
torn  me  to  pieces  but  for  the  assistance  of  a  woman,  whose  coun- 
tenance was  not  less  grim  than  that  of  the  dog ;  yet  she  with 
great  humanity  relieved  me  from  the  jaws  of  this  Cerberus,  and 
was  prevailed  on  to  carry  up  my  name  to  her  master. 

"  Without  suffering  me  to  wait  long,  my  old  friend,  who  was 
then  recovering  from  a  severe  fit  of  sickness,  came  down  in  his 
nightcap,  nightgown,  and  slippers,  and  embraced  me  with  the 
most  cordial  welcome,  showed  me  in,  and,  after  giving  me  a  his- 
tory of  his  indisposition,  assured  me  that  he  considered  himsel£ 
peculiarly  fortunate  in  having  under  his  roof  the  man  he  most 
loved  on  earth,  and  whose  stay  with  him  must,  above  all  things, 
contribute  to  perfect  his  recovery.  I  now  repented  sorely  I  had 
not  given  the  poor  woman  the  other  half  crown,  as  I  thought  all 


THE  HOSPITABLE  FRIEND.  40- 


my  bills  of  humanity  would  be  punctually  answered  by  this  wor- 
thy man.  I  revealed  to  him  my  whole  soul ;  I  opened  to  him  all 
my  distresses ;  and  freely  owned  that  I  had  but  one  half  crown 
in  my  pocket ;  but  that  now,  like  a  ship  after  weathering  out  the 
storm,  I  considered  myself  secure  in  a  safe  and  hospitable  har- 
bor. He  made  no  answer,  but  walked  about  the  room,  rubbing 
his  hands  as  one  in  deep  study.  This  I  imputed  to  the  sympa- 
thetic feelings  of  a  tender  heart,  which  increased  my  esteem  for 
him,  and,  as  that  increased,  I  gave  the  most  favorable  interpre- 
tation to  his  silence.  I  construed  it  into  delicacy  of  sentiment, 
as  if  he  dreaded  to  wound  my  pride  by  expressing  his  commis- 
eration in  words,  leaving  his  generous  conduct  to  speak  for 
itself 

"  It  now  approached  six  o'clock  in  the  evening ;  and  as  I  had 
eaten  no  breakfast,  and  as  my  spirits  were  raised,  my  appetite 
for  dinner  grew  uncommonly  keen.  At  length  the  old  woman 
came  into  the  room  with  two  plates,  one  spoon,  and  a  dirty  cloth, 
which  she  laid  upon  the  table.  This  appearance,  without  increas- 
ing my  spirits,  did  not  diminish  my  appetite.  My  protectress 
soon  returned  with  a  small  bowl  of  sago,  a  small  porringer  of 
sour  milk,  a  loaf  of  stale  brown  bread,  and  the  heel  of  an  old 
cheese  all  over  crawling  with  mites.  My  friend  apologized  .that 
his  illness  obliged  him  to  live  on  slops,  and  that  better  fare  was 
not  in  the  house  ;  observing,  at  the  same  time,  that  a  milk  diet 
was  certainly  the  most  healthful ;  and  at  eight  o'clock  he  again 
recommended  a  regular  life,  declaring  that  for  his  part  he  would 
lie  down  ivitji  tJie  lamb  and  rise  ivith  the  lark.  My  hunger  was 
at  this  time  so  exceedingly  sharp  that  I  wished  for  another  slice 
of  the  loaf,  but  was  obliged  to  go  to  bed  without  even  that  re- 
freshment, 

3 


50  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


"  This  lenten  entertainment  I  had  received  made  me  resolve 
to  depart  as  soon  as  possible  ;  accordingly,  next  morning,  when 
I  spoke  of  going,  he  did  not  oppose  my  resolution ;  he  rather 
commended  my  design,  adding  some  very  sage  counsel  upon  the 
occasion.  '  To  be  sure,'  said  he,  '  the  longer  you  stay  away  from 
your  mother,  the  more  you  will  grieve  her  and  your  other  friends  ; 
and  possibly  they  are  already  afflicted  at  hearing  of  this  foolish 
expedition  you  have  made.'  Notwithstanding  all  this,  and  with- 
out any  hope  of  softening  such  a  sordid  heart,  I  again  renewed 
the  tale  of  my  distress,  and  asking  '  how  he  thought  I  could  tra- 
vel above  a  hundred  miles  upon  one  half  crown  V  I  begged  to 
borrow  a  single  guinea,  which  I  assured  him  should  be  repaid 
with  thanks.  '  And  you  know,  sir,'  said  I,  '  it  is  no  more  than 
I  have  done  for  you.'  To  which  he  firmly  answered,  '  Why,  look 
you,  Mr.  Groldsmith,  that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  I  have  paid 
you  all  you  ever  lent  me,  and  this  sickness  of  mine  has  left  me 
bare  of  cash,  But  I  have  bethought  myself  of  a  conveyance  for  you ; 
sell  your  horse,  and  I  will  furnish  you  a  much  better  one  to  ride 
on.'  I  readily  grasped  at  his  proposal,  and  begged  to  see  the 
nag  ;  on  which  he  led  me  to  his  bedchamber,  and  from  under  the 
bed  he  pulled  out  a  stout  oak  stick.  '  Here  he  is,'  said  he ; 
'  take  this  in  your  hand,  and  it  will  carry  you  to  your  mother's 
with  more  safety  than  such  a  horse  as  you  ride.'  I  was  in  doubt, 
when  I  got  it  into  my  hand,  whether  I  should  not,  in  the  first 
place,  apply  it  to  his  pate  ;  but  a  rap  at  the  street  door  made  the 
wretch  fly  to  it,  and  when  I  returned  to  the  parlor,  he  introduced 
me,  as  if  nothing  of  the  kind  had  happened,  to  the  gentleman 
who  entered,  as  Mr.  Goldsmith,  his  most  ingenious  and  worthy 
friend,  of  whom  he  had  so  often  heard  him  speak  with  rapture. 
I  could  scarcely  compose  myself ;  and  must  have  betrayed  indig- 


CHANCE  COURTESIES.  51 


nation  in  my  mien  to  the  stranger,  who  was  a  counsellor-at-law 
in  the  neighborhood,  a  man  of  engaging  aspect  and  polite  ad- 
dress. 

"  After  spending  an  hour,  he  asked  my  friend  and  me  to  dine 
with  him  at  his  house  This  I  declined  at  first,  as  I  wished  to 
have  no  farther  communication  with  my  hospitable  friend  ;  but 
at  the  solicitation  of  both  I  at  last  consented,  determined  as  I 
was  by  two  motives ;  one,  that  I  was  prejudiced  in  favor  of  the 
looks  and  manner  of  the  counsellor  ;  and  the  other,  that  I  stood 
in  need  of  a  comfortable  dinner.  And  there,  indeed,  I  found 
every  thing  that  I  could  wish,  abundance  without  profusion,  and 
elegance  without  affectation.  In  the  evening,  when  my  old  friend, 
who  had  eaten  very  plentifully  at  his  neighbor's  table,  but  talked 
again  of  lying  down  with  the  lamb,  made  a  motion  to  me  for  re- 
tiring, our  generous  host  requested  I  should  take  a  bed  with  him, 
upon  which  I  plainly  told  my  old  friend  that  he  might  go  home 
and  take  care  of  the  horse  he  had  given  me,  but  that  I  should 
never  re-enter  his  doors.  He  went  away  with  a  laugh,  leaving 
me  to  add  this  to  the  other  little  things  the  counsellor  already 
knew  of  his  plausible  neighbor. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  mother,  I  found  sufiicient  to  reconcile 
me  to  all  my  follies  ;  for  here  I  spent  three  whole  days.  The 
counsellor  had  two  sweet  girls  to  his  daughters,  who  played  en- 
chantingly  on  the  harpsichord  ;  and  yet  it  was  but  a  melancholy 
pleasure  I  felt  the  first  time  I  heard  them  ;  for  that  being  the 
first  time  also  that  either  of  them  had  touched  the  instrument 
since  their  mother's  death,  I  saw  the  tears  in  silence  trickle  down 
their  father's  cheeks.  I  every  day  endeavored  to  go  away,  but 
every  day  was  pressed  and  obliged  to  stay.  On  my  going,  the 
counsellor  offered  me  his  purse,  with  a  horse  and  servant  to  con- 


52  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

vey  me  home  ;  but  the  latter  I  declined,  and  only  took  a  guinea 
to  bear  my  necessary  expenses  on  the  road. 

"  Oliver  Goldsmith, 
"  To  Mrs.  Anne  Goldsmith,  Ballymahon." 

Such  is  the  story  given  by  the  poet-errant  of  this  his  second 
sally  in  quest  of  adventures.  We  cannot  but  think  it  was  here 
and  there  touched  up  a  little  with  the  fanciful  pen  of  the  future 
essayist,  with  a  view  to  amuse  his  mother  and  soften  her  vexa- 
tion ;  but  even  in  these  respects  it  is  valuable  as  showing  the 
early  play  of  his  humor,  and  his  happy  knack  of  extracting 
sweets  from  that  worldly  experience  which  to  others  yields 
nothing  but  bitterness. 


SALLIES   FORTH  AS  A  LAW  STUDENT.  53 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Sallies  forth  as  a  law  student — Stumbles  at  the  outset. — Cousin  Jane  amd  the 
valentine. — A  family  oracle. — Sallies  forth  as  a  student  of  medicine. — 
Hocus-pocus  of  a  boarding-house. — Transformations  of  a  leg  of  mutton, — 
The  mock  ghost. — Sketches  of  Scotland. — Trials  of  toadyism. — A  poet's 
purse  for  a  Continental  tour. 

A  NEW  consultation  was  held  among  Goldsmith's  friends  as  to 
his  future  course,  and  it  was  determined  he  should  try  the  law. 
His  uncle  Contarine  agreed  to  advance  the  necessary  funds,  and 
actually  furnished  him  with  fifty  pounds,  with  which  he  set  oflf 
for  London,  to  enter  on  his  studies  at  the  Temple.  Unfortu- 
nately, he  fell  in  company  at  Dublin  with  a  Roscommon  acquaint- 
ance, one  whose  wits  had  been  sharpened  about  town,  who  be- 
guiled him  into  a  gambling-house,  and  soon  left  him  as  penniless 
as  when  he  bestrode  the  redoubtable  Fiddle-back. 

He  was  so  ashamed  of  this  fresh  instance  of  gross  heedless- 
ness and  imprudence,  that  he  remained  some  time  in  Dublin 
without  communicating  to  his  friends  his  destitute  condition. 
They  heard  of  it,  however,  and  he  was  invited  back  to  the  coun 
try,  and  indulgently  forgiven  by  his  generous  uncle,  but  less 
readily  by  his  mother,  who  was  mortified  and  disheartened  at 
seeing  all  her  early  hopes  of  him  so  repeatedly  blighted.  His 
brother  Henry,  too,  began  to  lose  patience  at  these  successive 


54  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


failures,  resulting  from  thoughtless  indiscretion ;  and  a  quarrel 
took  place,  which  for  some  time  interrupted  their  usually  affection- 
ate intercourse. 

The  only  home  where  poor  erring  Goldsmith  still  received  a 
welcome,  was  the  parsonage  of  his  affectionate  forgiving  uncle. 
Here  he  used  to  talk  of  literature  with  the  good  simple-hearted 
man,  and  delight  him  and  his  daughter  with  his  verses,  Jane, 
his  early  playmate,  was  now  the  woman  grown  ;  their  intercourse 
was  of  a  more  intellectual  kind  than  formerly ;  they  discoursed 
of  poetry  and  music  ;  she  played  on  the  harpsichord,  and  he  ac- 
companied her  with  his  flute.  The  music  may  not  have  been 
very  artistic,  as  he  never  performed  but  by  ear ;  it  had  probably 
as  much  merit  as  the  poetry,  which,  if  we  may  judge  by  the  fol- 
lowing specimen,  was  as  yet  but  juvenile : 

TO  A  YOUNG  LADY  ON  VALENTINE'S  DAY, 

WITH   THE   DRAWING   OF   A   HEART. 

With  submission  at  your  shrine, 
Comes  a  heart  your  Valentine  ; 
From  the  side  where  once  it  grew. 
See  it  panting  flies  to  you. 
Take  it,  fair  one,  to  your  breast. 
Soothe  the  fluttering  thing  to  rest ; 
Let  the  gentle,  spotless  toy. 
Be  your  sweetest,  greatest  joy  ; 
Every  night  when  wrapp'd  in  sleep. 
Next  your  heart  the  conquest  keep  ; 
Or  if  dreams  your  fancy  move. 
Hear  it  whisper  me  and  love  ; 
Then  in  pity  to  the  swain. 
Who  must  heartless  else  remain. 


THE  FAMILY  ORACLE.  55 


Soft  as  gentle  dewy  show'rs. 
Slow  descend  on  April  flow'rs  ; 
Soft  as  gentle  riv'lets  glide. 
Steal  unnoticed  to  my  side  ; 
If  the  gem  you  have  to  spare, 
Take  your  own  and  place  it  there. 

If  this  Valentine  was  intended  for  the  fair  Jane,  and  express- 
ive of  a  tender  sentiment  indulged  by  the  stripling  poet,  it  was 
unavailing  ;  as  not  long  afterwards  she  was  married  to  a  Mr. 
Lawder.  We  trust,  however,  it  was  but  a  poetical  passion  of  that 
transient  kind  which  grows  up  in  idleness  and  exhales  itself  in 
rhyme.  While  Oliver  was  thus  piping  and  poetizing  at  the  par- 
sonage, his  uncle  Contarine  received  a  visit  from  Dean  Groldsmith 
of  Cloyne ;  a  kind  of  magnate  in  the  wide,  but  improvident 
family  connection,  throughout  which  his  word  was  law  and  almost 
gospel.  This  august  dignitary  was  pleased  to  discover  signs  of 
talent  in  Oliver,  and  suggested  that  as  he  had  attempted  divinity 
and  law  without  success,  he  should  now  try  physic.  The  advice 
came  from  too  important  a  source  to  be  disregarded,  and  it  was 
determined  to  send  him  to  Edinburgh  to  commence  his  studies. 
The  Dean  having  given  the  advice,  added  to  it,  we  trust,  his 
blessing,  but  no  money ;  that  was  furnished  from  the  scantier 
purses  of  Goldsmith's  brother,  his  sister  (Mrs.  Hodson)  and  his 
ever-ready  uncle,  Contarine. 

It  was  in  the  autumn  of  1752  that  Goldsmith  arrived  in 
Edinburgh.  His  outset  in  that  city  came  near  adding  to  the  list 
of  his  indiscretions  and  disasters.  Having  taken  lodgings  at  hap- 
hazard, he  left  his  trunk  there,  containing  all  his  worldly  effects, 
and  sallied  forth  to  see  the  town.  After  sauntering  about  the 
streets  until  a  late  hour,  he  thought  of  returning  home,  when,  to 


56  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


his  confusion,  he  found  he  had  not  acquainted  himself  with  the 
name  either  of  his  landlady  or  of  the  street  in  which  she  lived. 
Fortunately,  in  the  height  of  his  whimsical  perplexity,  he  met 
the  cawdy  or  porter  who  had  carried  his  trunk,  and  who  now 
served  him  as  a  guide. 

He  did  not  remain  long  in  the  lodgings  in  which  he  had  put 
up.  The  hostess  was  too  adroit  at  that  hocus-pocus  of  the  table 
which  often  is  practised  in  cheap  boarding-houses.  No  one  could 
conjure  a  single  joint  through  a  greater  variety  of  forms.  A 
loin  of  mutton,  according  to  Goldsmith's  account,  would  serve 
him  and  two  fellow-students  a  whole  week.  "  A  brandered  chop 
was  served  up  one  day,  a  fried  steak  another,  coUops  with  onion 
sauce  a  third,  and  so  on  until  the  fleshy  parts  were  quite  con- 
sumed, when  finally  a  dish  of  broth  was  manufactured  from  the 
bones  on  the  seventh  day,  and  the  landlady  rested  from  her 
labors."  Goldsmith  had  a  good-humored  mode  of  taking  things, 
and  for  a  short  time  amused  himself  with  the  shifts  and  expe- 
dients of  his  landlady,  which  struck  him  in  a  ludicrous  manner ; 
he  soon,  however,  fell  in  with  fellow-students  from  his  own  coun- 
try, whom  he  joined  at  more  eligible  quarters. 

He  now  attended  medical  lectures,  and  attached  himself  to 
an  association  of  students  called  the  Medical  Society.  He  set 
out,  as  usual,  with  the  best  intentions,  but,  as  usual,  soon  fell 
into  idle,  convivial,  thoughtless  habits.  Edinburgh  was  indeed  a 
place  of  sore  trial  for  one  of  his  temperament.  Convivial  meet- 
ings were  all  the  vogue,  and  the  tavern  was  the  universal  rally- 
ing-place  of  good-fellowship.  And  then  Goldsmith's  intimacies 
lay  chiefly  among  the  Irish  students,  who  were  always  ready  for 
a  wild  freak  and  frolic.  Among  them  he  was  a  prime  favorite 
and  somewhat  of  a  leader,  from  his  exuberance  of  spirits,  his 


THE  MOCK  GHOST.  57 


vein  of  humor,  and  his  talent  at  singing  an  Irish  song  and  telling 
an  Irish  story. 

His  usual  carelessness  in  money  matters  attended  him. 
Though  his  supplies  from  home  were  scanty  and  irregular,  he 
never  could  bring  himself  into  habits  of  prudence  and  economy ; 
often  he  was  stripped  of  all  his  present  finances  at  play ;  often 
he  lavished  them  away  in  fits  of  unguarded  charity  or  generosity. 
Sometimes  among  his  boon  companions  he  assumed  a  ludicrous 
swagger  in  money  matters,  which  no  one  afterward  was  more 
ready  than  himself  to  laugh  at.  At  a  convivial  meeting  with  a 
number  of  his  fellow-students,  he  suddenly  proposed  to  draw  lots 
with  any  one  present  which  of  the  two  should  treat  the  whole 
party  to  the  play.  The  moment  the  proposition  had  bolted  from 
his  lips,  his  heart  was  in  his  throat.  "  To  my  great  though 
secret  joy,"  said  he,  "  they  all  declined  the  challenge.  Had  it 
been  accepted,  and  had  I  proved  the  loser,  a  part  of  my  wardrobe 
must  have  been  pledged  in  order  to  raise  the  money." 

At  another  of  these  meetings  there  was  an  earnest  dispute  on 
the  question  of  ghosts,  some  being  firm  believers  in  the  possibility 
of  departed  spirits  returning  to  visit  their  friends  and  familiar 
haunts.  One  of  the  disputants  set  sail  the  next  day  for  London, 
but  the  vessel  put  back  through  stress  of  weather.  His  return 
was  unknown  except  to  one  of  the  believers  in  ghosts,  who  con- 
certed with  him  a  trick  to  be  played  oflf  on  the  opposite  party. 
In  the  evening,  at  a  meeting  of  the  students,  the  discussion  was 
renewed  ;  and  one  of  the  most  strenuous  opposers  of  ghosts  was 
asked  whether  he  considered  himself  proof  against  ocular  demon- 
stration ?  He  persisted  in  his  scoffing.  Some  solemn  process  of 
conjuration  was  performed,  and  the  comrade  supposed  to  be  on 
his  way  to  London  made  his  appearance.     The  efi"ect  was  fatal. 


58  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

The  unbeliever  fainted  at  the  sight,  and  ultimately  went  mad. 
We  have  no  account  of  what  share  Goldsmith  took  in  this  trans- 
action, at  which  he  was  present. 

The  following  letter  to  his  friend  Bryanton,  contains  some  of 
Goldsmith's  impressions  concerning  Scotland  and  its  inhabitants, 
and  gives  indications  of  that  humor  which  characterized  some  of 
his  later  writings. 

"  Robert  Bryanton^  at  Ballymalion^  Ireland. 

"  Edinburgh,  September  26th,  1753. 
"  My  dear  Bob, 

"  How  many  good  excuses  (and  you  know  I  was  ever  good  at 
an  excuse)  might  I  call  up  to  vindicate  my  past  shameful  silence. 
I  might  tell  how  I  wrote  a  long  letter  on  my  first  coming  hither, 
and  seem  vastly  angry  at  my  not  receiving  an  answer  ;  I  might 
allege  that  business  (with  business  you  know  I  was  always  pes- 
tered) had  never  given  me  time  to  finger  a  pen.  But  I  suppress 
those  and  twenty  more  as  plausible,  and  as  easily  invented,  since 
they  might  be  attended  with  a  slight  inconvenience  of  being 
known  to  be  lies.  Let  me  then  speak  truth.  An  hereditary  in- 
dolence (I  have  it  from  the  mother's  side)  has  hitherto  prevented 
my  writing  to  you,  and  still  prevents  my  writing  at  least  twenty- 
five  letters  more,  due  to  my  friends  in  Ireland.  No  turn-spit-dog 
gets  up  into  his  wheel  with  more  reluctance  than  I  sit  down  to 
write  ;  yet  no  dog  ever  loved  the  roast  meat  he  turns  better  than 
I  do  him  I  now  address. 

"  Yet  what  shall  I  say  now  I  am  entered  ?  Shall  I  tire  you 
with  a  description  of  this  unfruitful  country  ;  where  I  must  lead 
you  over  their  hills  all  brown  with  heath,  or  their  valleys  scarcely 
able  to  feed  a  rabbit  ?     Man  alone  seems  to  be  the  only  creature 


SKETCHES  OF  SCOTLAND.  59 


who  has  arrived  to  the  natural  size  in  this  poor  soil.  Every  part 
of  the  country  presents  the  same  dismal  landscape.  No  grove, 
nor  brook,  lend  their  music  to  cheer  the  stranger,  or  make  the 
inhabitants  forget  their  poverty.  Yet  with  all  these  disadvan- 
tages to  call  him  down  to  humility,  a  Scotchman  is  one  of  the 
proudest  things  alive.  The  poor  have  pride  ever  ready  to  relieve 
them.  If  mankind  should  happen  to  despise  them,  they  are 
masters  of  their  own  admiration  ;  and  that  they  can  plentifully 
bestow  upon  themselves. 

"  From  their  pride  and  poverty,  as  I  take  it,  results  one  ad- 
vantage this  country  enjoys  ;  namely,  the  gentlemen  here  are 
much  better  bred  than  among  us.  No  such  character  here  as 
our  fox-hunters  ;  and  they  have  expressed  great  surprise  when  I 
informed  them,  that  some  men  in  Ireland  of  one  thousand  pounds 
a  year,  spend  their  whole  lives  in  running  after  a  hare,  and  drink- 
ing to  be  drunk.  Truly  if  such  a  being,  equipped  in  his  hunting 
dress,  came  among  a  circle  of  Scotch  gentry,  they  would  behold 
him  with  the  same  astonishment  that  a  countryman  does  King 
George  on  horseback. 

"  The  men  here  have  generally  high  cheek  bones,  and  are  lean 
and  swarthy,  fond  of  action,  dancing  in  particular.  Now  that  I 
have  mentioned  dancing,  let  me  say  something  of  their  balls, 
which  are  very  frequent  here.  When  a  stranger  enters  the 
dancing-hall,  he  sees  one  end  of  the  room  taken  up  by  the  ladies, 
who  sit  dismally  in  a  group  by  themselves  ; — in  the  other  end 
stand  their  pensive  partners  that  are  to  be  ; — but  no  more  inter- 
course between  the  sexes  than  there  is  between  two  countries  at 
war.  The  ladies  indeed  may  ogle,  and  the  gentlemen  sigh ;  but 
an  embargo  is  laid  on  any  closer  commerce.  At  length,  to  inter- 
rupt hostilities,  the  lady  directress,  or  intendant,  or  what  you 


60  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

will,  pitches  upon  a  lady  and  gentleman  to  walk  a  minuet ;  which 
they  perform  with  a  formality  that  approaches  to  despondence. 
After  five  or  six  couple  have  thus  walked  the  gauntlet,  all  stand 
up  to  country  dances  ;  each  gentleman  furnished  with  a  partner 
from  the  aforesaid  lady  directress  ;  so  they  dance  much,  say 
nothing,  and  thus  concludes  our  assembly.  I  told  a  Scotch  gen- 
tleman that  such  profound  silence  resembled  the  ancient  proces- 
sion of  the  Roman  matrons  in  honor  of  Ceres ;  and  the  Scotch 
gentleman  told  me,  (and,  faith  I  believe  he  was  right,)  that  I  was 
a  very  great  pedant  for  my  pains. 

"  Now  I  am  come  to  the  ladies  ;  and  to  show  that  I  love  Scot- 
land, and  every  thing  that  belongs  to  so  charming  a  country,  I 
insist  on  it,  and  will  give  him  leave  to  break  my  head  that  denies 
it — that  the  Scotch  ladies  are  ten  thousand  times  finer  and  hand- 
somer than  the  Irish.  To  be  sure,  now,  I  see  your  sisters  Betty 
and  Peggy  vastly  surprised  at  my  partiality, — but  tell  them 
flatly,  I  don't  value  them — or  their  fine   skins,  or  eyes,  or  good 

sense,  or ,  a  potato  ; — for  I  say,  and  will  maintain  it ;  and 

as  a  convincing  proof  (I  am  in  a  great  passion)  of  what  I  assert, 
the  Scotch  ladies  say  it  themselves.  But  to  be  less  serious  ; 
where  will  you  find  a  language  so  prettily  become  a  pretty  mouth 
as  the  broad  Scotch  ?  And  the  women  here  speak  it  in  its  high- 
est purity  ;  for  instance,  teach  one  of  your  young  ladies  at  home 
to  pronounce  the  "  Whoar  wull  I  gong  ?"  with  a  becoming  widen- 
ing of  mouth,  and  I'll  lay  my  life  they'll  wound  every  hearer. 

"  We  have  no  such  character  here  as  a  coquet,  but  alas  !  how 
many  envious  prudes  !  Some  days  ago  I  walked  into  my  Lord 
Kilcoubry's  (don't  be  surprised,  my  lord  is  but  a  glover),*  when 

*  William  Maclellan,  who  claimed  the  title,  and  whose  son  succeeded  in 


SKETCHES  OF  SCOTLAND.  &1 


the  Duchess  of  Hamilton  (that  fair  who  sacrificed  her  beauty  to 
her  ambition,  and  her  inward  peace  to  a  title  and  gilt  equipage) 
passed  by  in  her  chariot ;  her  battered  husband,  or  more  pro- 
perly the  guardian  of  her  charms,  sat  by  her  side.  Straight  envy 
began,  in  the  shape  of  no  less  than  three  ladies  who  sat  with  me, 
to  find  faults  in  her  faultless  form. — '  For  my  part,'  says  the  first, 
*  I  think  what  I  always  thought,  that  the  Duchess  has  too  much  of 
the  red  in  her  complexion.'  '  Madam,  I  am  of  your  opinion,' 
says  the  second  ;  '  I  think  her  face  has  a  palish  cast  too  much 
on  the  delicate  order,'  '  And,  let  me  tell  you,'  added  the  third 
lady,  whose  mouth  was  puckered  up  to  the  size  of  an  issue,  '  that 
the  Duchess  has  fine  lips,  but  she  wants  a  mouth.' — At  this  every 
lady  drew  up  her  mouth  as  if  going  to  pronounce  the  letter  P. 

"  But  how  ill,  my  Bob,  does  it  become  me  to  ridicule  women 
with  whom  I  have  scarcely  any  correspondence  !  There  are,  'tis 
certain,  handsome  women  here ;  and  'tis  certain  they  have  hand- 
some men  to  keep  them  company.  An  ugly  and  poor  man  is 
society  only  for  himself ;  and  such  society  the  world  lets  me  enjoy 
in  great  abundance.  Fortune  has  given  you  circumstances,  and 
nature  a  person  to  look  charming  in  the  eyes  of  the  fair.  Nor 
do  I  envy  my  dear  Bob  such  blessings,  while  I  may  sit  down  and 
laugh  at  the  world  and  at  myself — the  most  ridiculous  object  in  it. 
But  you  see  I  am  grown  downright  splenetic,  and  perhaps  the 
fit  may  continue  till  I  receive  an  answer  to  this.  I  know  you 
cannot  send  me  much  news  from  Ballymahon,  but  such  as  it  is, 
send  it  all ;  every  thing  you  send  will  be  agreeable  to  me. 

"  Has  George  Conway  put  up  a  sign  yet ;  or  John  Binley 

establishing  the  claim  in  1773.  The  father  is  said  to  have  voted  at  the  elec- 
tion of  the  sixteen  Peers  for  Scotland  ;  and  to  have  sold  gloves  in  the  lobby 
at  this  and  other  public  assemblages. 


62  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


left  off  drinking  drams  ;  or  Tom  Allen  got  a  new  wig  ?  But  I 
leave  you  to  your  own  choice  what  to  write.  While  I  live,  know 
you  have  a  true  friend  in  yours,  &c.  &c.  &c. 

"  Oliver  G-oldsmith. 
"  P.  S.  Grive  my  sincere  respects   (not  compliments,  do  you 
mind)  to  your  agreeable  family,  and  give  my  service  to  my  mo- 
ther, if  you  see  her  ;  for,  as  you  express  it  in  Ireland,  I  have  a 

sneaking  kindness  for  her  still.     Direct  to  me, ,  Student  in 

Physic,  in  Edinburgh." 

Nothing  worthy  of  preservation  appeared  from  his  pen  during 
his  residence  in  Edinburgh ;  and  indeed  his  poetical  powers, 
highly  as  they  had  been  estimated  by  his  friends,  had  not  as  yet 
produced  any  thing  of  superior  merit.  He  made  on  one  occasion 
a  month's  excursion  to  the  Highlands.  "  I  set  out  the  first  day 
on  foot,"  says  he,  in  a  letter  to  his  uncle  Contarine,  "  but  an  ill- 
natured  corn  I  have  on  my  toe,  has  for  the  future  prevented  that 
cheap  mode  of  travelling';  so  the  second  day  I  hired  a  horse, 
about  the  size  of  a  ram,  and  he  walked  away  (trot  he  could  not) 
as  pensive  as  his  master." 

During  his  residence  in  Scotland  his  convivial  talents  gained 
him  at  one  time  attentions  in  a  high  quarter,  which,  however,  he 
had  the  good  sense  to  appreciate  correctly.  "  I  have  spent," 
says  he,  in  one  of  his  letters,  "more  than  a  fortnight  every 
second  day  at  the  Duke  of  Hamilton's  :  but  it  seems  they  like 
me  more  as  a  jester  than  as  a  companion,  so  I  disdained  so  ser- 
vile an  employment  as  unworthy  my  calling  as  a  physician." 
Here  we  again  find  the  origin  of  another  passage  in  his  autobio- 
graphy, under  the  character  of  the  "  Man  in  Black,"  wherein 
that  worthy  figures  as  a  flatterer  to  a  great  man.     "  At  first." 


TRIALS  OF  TOAPYISM. 


t 


says  he,  "  I  was  surprised  that  the  situation  of  a  flatterer  at  a 
great  man's  table  could  be  thought  disagreeable ;  there  was  no 
great  trouble  in  listening  attentively  when  his  lordship  spoke, 
and  laughing  when  he  looked  round  for  applause.  This,  even 
good  manners  might  have  obliged  me  to  perform.  I  found,  how- 
ever, too  soon,  his  lordship  was  a  greater  dunce  than  myself,  and 
from  that  moment  flattery  was  at  an  end.  I  now  rather  aimed  at 
setting  him  right,  than  at  receiving  his  absurdities  with  submis- 
sion :  to  flatter  those  we  do  not  know  is  an  easy  task  ;  but  to 
flatter  our  intimate  acquaintances,  all  whose  foibles  are  strongly 
in  our  eyes,  is  drudgery  insupportable.  Every  time  I  now 
opened  my  lips  in  praise,  my  falsehood  went  to  my  conscience ; 
his  lordship  soon  perceived  me  to  be  very  unfit  for  his  service  :  I 
was  therefore  discharged  ;  my  patron  at  the  same  time  being 
graciously  pleased  to  observe  that  he  believed  I  was  tolerably 
good-natured,  and  had  not  the  least  harm  in  me." 

After  spending  two  winters  at  Edinburgh,  Goldsmith  pre- 
pared to  finish  his  medical  studies  on  the  Continent,  for  which 
his  uncle  Contarine  agreed  to  furnish  the  funds.  "I  intend," 
said  he,  in  a  letter  to  his  uncle,  "  to  visit  Paris,  where  the  great 
Farheim,  Petit,  and  Du  Hammel  de  Monceau  instruct  their 
pupils  in  all  the  branches  of  medicine.  They  speak  French,  and 
consequently  I  shall  have  much  the  advantage  of  most  of  my 
countrymen,  as  I  am  perfectly  acquainted  with  that  language,  and 
few  who  leave  Ireland  are  so.  I  shall  spend  the  spring  and  sum- 
mer in  Paris,  and  the  beginning  of  next  winter  go  to  Leyden. 
The  great  Albinus  is  still  alive  there,  and  'twill  be  proper  to  go, 
though  only  to  have  it  said  that  we  have  studied  in  so  famous  a 
university. 

"  As  I  shall  not  have  another  opportunity  of  receiving  money 


?64  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


from  your  bounty  till  my  return  to  Ireland,  so  I  have  drawn  for 
the  last  sum  that  I  hope  I  shall  ever  trouble  you  for  ;  'tis  £20. 
And  now,  dear  Sir,  let  me  here  acknowledge  the  humility  of  the 
station  in  which  you  found  me ;  let  me  tell  how  I  was  despised 
by  most,  and  hateful  to  myself  Poverty,  hopeless  poverty,  was 
my  lot,  and  Melancholy  was  beginning  to  make  me  her  own. 

When  you but  I  stop  here,  to  inquire  how  your  health  goes 

on  ?  How  does  my  cousin  Jenny,  and  has  she  recovered  her 
late  complaint  ?  How  does  my  poor  Jack  Goldsmith  ?  I  fear 
his  disorder  is  of  such  a  nature  as  he  won't  easily  recover.  I 
wish,  my  dear  Sir,  you  would  make  me  happy  by  another  letter 
before  I  go  abroad,  for  there  I  shall  hardly  hear  from  you.  *  * 
Give  my — how  shall  I  express  it  ?  Give  my  earnest  love  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Lawder. 

Mrs.  Lawder  was  Jane,  his  early  playmate — the  object  of  his 
valentine — his  first  poetical  inspiration.  She  had  been  for  some 
time  married. 

Medical  instruction,  it  will  be  perceived,  was  the  ostensible 
motive  for  this  visit  to  the  Continent,  but  the  real  one,  in  all 
probability,  was  his  long-cherished  desire  to  see  foreign  parts. 
This,  however,  he  would  not  acknowledge  even  to  himself,  but 
sought  to  reconcile  his  roving  propensities  with  some  grand 
moral  purpose.  "  I  esteem  the  traveller  who  instructs  the  heart," 
says  he,  in  one  of  his  subsequent  writings,  "  but  despise  him 
who  only  indulges  the  imagination.  A  man  who  leaves  home  to 
mend  himself  and  others,  is  a  philosopher ;  but  he  who  goes  from 
country  to  country,  guided  by  the  blind  impulse  of  curiosity,  is 
only  a  vagabond."  He,  of  course,  was  to  travel  as  a  philosopher, 
and  in  truth  his  outfits  for  a  Continental  tour  were  in  character. 
"  I  shall  carry  just  £33  to  France,"  said  he,  "with  good  store  of 


THE  LAST  SALLY  UPON  THE  WORLD.  65 


clothes,  shirts,  &c.,  and  that  with  economy  will  suffice."  He 
forgot  to  make  mention  of  his  flute,  which  it  will  be  found  had 
occasionally  to  come  in  play  when  economy  could  not  replenish 
his  purse,  nor  philosophy  find  him  a  supper.  Thus  slenderly 
provided  with  money,  prudence  or  experience,  and  almost  as 
slightly  guarded  against  "hard  knocks"  as  the  hero  of  La 
Mancha,  whose  head-piece  was  half  iron,  half  pasteboard,  he 
made  his  final  sally  forth  upon  the  world ;  hoping  all  things  ; 
believing  all  things :  little  anticipating  the  checkered  ills  in  store 
for  him  ;  little  thinking  when  he  penned  his  valedictory  letter  to 
his  good  uncle  Contarine,  that  he  was  never  to  see  him  more ; 
never  to  return  after  all  his  wandering  to  the  friend  of  his 
infancy ;  never  to  revisit  his  early  and  fondly-remembered  haunts 
at  '  sweet  Lissoy  l#and  Ballymahon. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  agreeable  fellow-passengers. — Risks  from  friends  picked  up  by  the  way- 
side.— Sketches  of  Holland  and  the  Dutch. — Shifts  while  a  poor  student  at 
Ley  den. — The  tulip  speculation. — The  provident  flute. — Sojourn  at  Paris. 
— Sketch  of  Voltaire. — Travelling  shifts  of  a  philosophic  vagabond. 

His  usual  indiscretion  attended  Groldsmith  at  the  very  out- 
set of  his  foreign  enterprise.  He  had  intend^  to  take  shipping 
at  Leith  for  Holland  ;  but  on  arriving  at  that  port,  he  found  a 
ship  about  to  sail  for  Bordeaux,  with  six  agreeable  passengers, 
whose  acquaintance  he  had  probably  made  at  the  inn.  He  was 
not  a  man  to  resist  a  sudden  impulse  ;  so,  instead  of  embarking 
for  Holland,  he  found  himself  ploughing  the  seas  on  his  way  to 
the  other  side  of  the  continent.  Scarcely  had  the  ship  been  two 
days  at  sea,  when  she  was  driven  by  stress  of  weather  to  New- 
castle-upon-Tyne. Here  'of  course'  Groldsmith  and  his  agree- 
able fellow-passengers  found  it  expedient  to  go  on  shore  and 
"  refresh  themselves  after  the  fatigues  of  the  voyage."  '  Of  course' 
they  frolicked  and  made  merry  until  a  late  hour  in  the  evening, 
when,  in  the  midst  of  their  hilarity,  the  door  was  burst  open,  and 
a  Serjeant  and  twelve  grenadiers  entered  with  fixed  bayonets,  and 
took  the  whole  convivial  party  prisoners. 

It  seems  that  the  agreeable  companions  with  whom  our  green- 
horn had  struck  up  such  a  sudden  intimacy,  were  Scotchmen  in 


SKETCHES  OF  HOLLAND.  67 


the  French  service,  who  had  been  in  Scotland  enlisting  recruits 
for  the  French  army. 

In  vain  Groldsmith  protested  his  innocence  ;  he  was  marched 
oif  with  his  fellow  revellers  to  prison,  whence  he  with  difficulty 
obtained  his  release  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight.  "With  his  custom- 
ary facility,  however,  at  palliating  his  misadventures,  he  found 
every  thing  turn  out  for  the  best.  His  imprisonment  saved  his 
life,  for  during  his  detention  the  ship  proceeded  on  her  voyage, 
but  was  wrecked  at  the  mouth  of  the  Garonne  and  all  on  board 
perished. 

Goldsmith's  second  embarkation  was  for  Holland  direct,  and 
in  nine  days  he  arrived  at  Rotterdam,  whence  he  proceeded, 
without  any  more  deviations,  to  Leyden.  He  gives  a  whimsical 
picture,  in  one  of  his  letters,  of  the  appearance  of  the  Hollanders. 
"  The  modern  Dutchman  is  quite  a  different  creature  from  him 
of  former  times  :  he  in  every  thing  imitates  a  Frenchman  but  in 
his  easy,  disengaged  air.  He  is  vastly  ceremonious,  and  is,  per- 
haps, exactly  what  a  Frenchman  might  have  been  in  the  reign  of 
Louis  XIV.  Such  are  the  better  bred.  But  the  downright 
Hollander  is  one  of  the  oddest  figures  in  nature.  Upon  a  lank 
head  of  hair  he  wears  a  half-cocked  narrow  hat,  laced  with  black 
riband  ;  no  coat,  but  seven  waistcoats  and  nine  pair  of  breeches, 
so  that  his  hips  reach  up  almost  to  his  armpits.  This  well- 
clothed  vegetable  is  now  fit  to  see  company  or  make  love.  But 
what  a  pleasing  creature  is  the  object  of  his  appetite  !  why,  she 
wears  a  large  fur  cap,  with  a  deal  of  Flanders  lace  ;  and  for 
every  pair  of  breeches  he  carries,  she  puts  on  two  petticoats. 

"  A  Dutch  lady  burns  nothing  about  her  phlegmatic  admirer 
but  his  tobacco.  You  must  know,  sir,  every  woman  carries  in 
her  hand  a  stove  of  coals,  which,  when  she  sits,  she  snugs  under 


«8  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


her  petticoats,  and  at  this  chimney  dozing  Strephon  lights  his 
pipe." 

In  the  same  letter  he  contrasts  Scotland  and  Holland. 
"  There  hills  and  rocks  intercept  every  prospect ;  here  it  is  all  a 
continued  plain.  There  you  might  see  a  well-dressed  Duchess 
issuing  from  a  dirty  close,  and  here  a  dirty  Dutchman  inhabiting 
a  palace.  The  Scotch  may  be  compared  to  a  tulip,  planted  in 
dung ;  but  I  can  never  see  a  Dutchman  in  his  own  house,  but  I 
think  of  a  magnificent  Egyptian  temple  dedicated  to  an  ox." 

The  country  itself  awakened  his  admiration.  "  Nothing," 
said  he,  "  can  equal  its  beauty ;  wherever  I  turn  my  eyes,  fine 
houses,  elegant  gardens,  statues,  grottoes,  vistas,  present  them- 
selves ;  but  when  you  enter  their  towns  you  are  charmed  beyond 
description.  No  misery  is  to  be  seen  here  ;  every  one  is  usefully 
employed."  And  again,  in  his  noble  description  in  "  The  Trav- 
eller :" 

"  To  men  of  other  minds  my  fancy  flies, 

Imbosoni'd  in  the  deep  where  Holland  lies. 

Methinks  her  patient  sons  before  me  stand. 

Where  the  broad  ocean  leans  against  the  land, 

And,  sedulous  to  stop  the  coming  tide, 

Lift  the  tall  rampire's  artificial  pride. 

Onward,  methinks,  and  diligently  slow. 

The  firm  connected  bulwark  seems  to  grow  ; 

Spreads  its  long  arms  amid  the  watery  roar. 

Scoops  out  an  empire,  and  usurps  the  shore. 

While  the  pent  ocean,  rising  o'er  the  pile. 

Sees  an  amphibious  world  before  him  smile  ; 

The  slow  canal,  the  yellow  blossom'd  vale. 

The  willow-tufted  bank,  the  gliding  sail. 

The  crowded  mart,  the  cultivated  plain, 

A  new  creation  rescued  from  his  reign." 


SHIFTS  AS  A   STUDENT. 


He  remained  about  a  year  at  Leyden,  attending  the  lectures 
of  Gaubius  on  chemistry  and  Albinus  on  anatomy  ;  though  his 
studies  are  said  to  have  been  miscellaneous,  and  directed  to  liter- 
ature rather  than  science.  The  thirty-three  pounds  with  which 
he  had  set  out  on  his  travels  were  soon  consumed,  and  he  was 
put  to  many  a  shift  to  meet  his  expenses  until  his  precarious  re- 
mittances should  arrive.  He  had  a  good  friend  on  these  occa- 
sions in  a  fellow-student  and  countryman,  named  Ellis,  who 
afterwards  rose  to  eminence  as  a  physician.  He  used  fre- 
quently to  loan  small  sums  to  Goldsmith,  which  were  always 
scrupulously  paid.  Ellis  discovered  the  innate  merits  of  the 
poor  awkward  student,  and  used  to  declare  in  after  life  that 
it  was  a  common  remark  in  Leyden,  that  in  all  the  peculiarities 
of  Goldsmith,  an  elevation  of  mind  was  to  be  noted ;  a  philo- 
sophical tone  and  manner  :  the  feelings  of  a  gentleman,  and  the 
language  and  information  of  a  scholar." 

Sometimes,  in  his  emergencies,  Goldsmith  undertook  to  teach 
the  English  language.  It  is  true  he  was  ignorant  of  the  Dutch, 
but  he  had  a  smattering  of  the  French,  picked  up  among  the 
Irish  priests  at  Ballymahon.  He  depicts  his  whimsical  embar- 
rassment in  this  respect,  in  his  account  in  the  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field of  the  philosophical  vagabond  who  went  to  Holland  to  teach 
the  natives  English,  without  knowing  a  word  of  their  own  lan- 
guage. Sometimes,  when  sorely  pinched,  and  sometimes,  per- 
haps, when  flush,  he  resorted  to  the  gambling  tables,  which  in 
those  days  abounded  in  Holland.  His  good  friend  Ellis  repeat- 
edly warned  him  against  this  unfortunate  propensity,  but  in  vain. 
It  brought  its  own  cure,  or  rather  its  own  punishment,  by  strip- 
ping him  of  every  shilling. 

Ellis  once  more  stepped  in  to  his  relief  with  a  true  Irishman's 


70  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


generosity,  but  with  more  considerateness  than  generally  charac- 
terizes an  Irishman,  for  he  only  granted  pecuniary  aid  on  condi- 
tion of  his  quitting  the  sphere  of  danger.  Goldsmith  gladly 
consented  to  leave  Holland,  being  anxious  to  visit  other  parts. 
He  intended  to  proceed  to  Paris  and  pursue  his  studies  there, 
and  was  furnished  by  his  friend  with  money  for  the  journey. 
Unluckily,  he  rambled  into  the  garden  of  a  florist  just  before 
quitting  Leyden.  The  tulip  mania  was  still  prevalent  in  Hol- 
land, and  some  species  of  that  splendid  flower  brought  immense 
prices.  In  wandering  through  the  garden  Goldsmith  recollected 
that  his  uncle  Contarine  was  a  tulip  fancier.  The  thought  sud- 
denly struck  him  that  here  was  an  opportunity  of  testifying,  in 
a  delicate  manner,  his  sense  of  that  generous  uncle's  past  kind- 
nesses. In  an  instant  his  hand  was  in  his  pocket ;  a  number  of 
choice  and  costly  tulip-roots  were  purchased  and  packed  up  for 
Mr.  Contarine  ;  and  it  was  not  until  he  had  paid  for  them  that 
he  bethought  himself  that  he  had  spent  all  the  money  borrowed 
for  his  travelling  expenses.  Too  proud,  however,  to  give  up  his 
journey,  and  too  shamefaced  to  make  another  appeal  to  his  friend's 
liberality,  he  determined  to  travel  on  foot,  and  depend  upon 
chance  and  good  luck  for  the  means  of  getting  forward  ;  and  it  is 
said  that  he  actually  set  off  on  a  tour  of  the  Continent,  in 
February,  1775,  with  but  one  spare  shirt,  a  flute,  and  a  single 
guinea. 

"  Blessed,"  says  one  of  his  biographers,  "  with  a  good  consti- 
tution, an  adventurous  spirit,  and  with  that  thoughtless,  or, 
perhaps,  happy  disposition  which  takes  no  care  for  to-morrow,  he 
continued  his  travels  for  a  long  time  in  spite  of  innumerable  pri- 
vatione."  In  his  amusing  narrative  of  the  adventures  of  a 
"  Philosophic  Vagabond  "  in  the  "  Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  we  find 


SOJOURN  AT  PARIS.  71; 


shadowed  out  the  expedients  he  pursued.  "  I  had  some  know- 
ledge of  music,  with  a  tolerable  voice ;  I  now  turned  what  was 
once  my  amusement  into  a  present  means  of  subsistence.  I 
passed  among  the  harmless  peasants  of  Flanders,  and  among 
such  of  the  French  as  were  poor  enough  to  be  very  merry,  for  I 
ever  found  them  sprightly  in  proportion  to  their  wants.  When- 
ever I  approached  a  peasant's  house  towards  nightfall,  I  played 
one  of  my  merriest  tunes,  and  that  procured  me  not  only  a 
lodging,  but  subsistence  for  the  next  day ;  but  in  truth  I  must 
own,  whenever  I  attempted  to  entertain  persons  of  a  higher  rank, 
they  always  thought  my  performance  odious,  and  never  made  me 
any  return  for  my  endeavors  to  please  them." 

At  Paris  he  attended  the  chemical  lectures  of  Rouelle,  then 
in  great  vogue,  where  he  says  he  witnessed  as  bright  a  circle  of 
beauty  as  graced  the  court  of  Versailles.  His  love  of  theatri- 
cals, also,  led  him  to  attend  the  performances  of  the  celebrated 
actress  Mademoiselle  Clairon,  with  which  he  was  greatly  delighted. 
He  seems  to  have  looked  upon  the  state  of  society  with  the  eye 
of  a  philosopher,  but  to  have  read  the  signs  of  the  times  with 
the  prophetic  eye  of  a  poet.  In  his  rambles  about  the  environs 
of  Paris,  he  was  struck  with  the  immense  quantities  of  game 
running  about  almost  in  a  tame  state  ;  and  saw  in  those  costly  and 
rigid  preserves  for  the  amusement  and  luxury  of  the  privileged 
few,  a  sure  '•  badge  of  the  slavery  of  the  people."  This  slavery  he 
predicted  was  drawing  towards  a  close.  "  When  I  consider  that 
these  parliaments,  the  members  of  which  are  all  created  by  the 
court,  and  the  presidents  of  which  can  only  act  by  immediate 
direction,  presume  even  to  mention  privileges  and  freedom,  who 
till  of  late  received  directions  from  the  throne  with  implicit 
humility ;  when  this  is  considered,  I  cannot  help  fancying  that 


72  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


the  genius  of  Freedom  has  entered  that  kingdom  in  disguise.  If 
they  have  but  three  weak  monarchs  more  successively  on  the 
throne,  the  mask  will  be  laid  aside,  and  the  country  will  certainly 
once  more  be  free."  Events  have  testified  to  the  sage  forecast  of 
the  poet. 

During  a  brief  sojourn  in  Paris,  he  appears  to  have  gained 
access  to  valuable  society,  and  to  have  had  the  honor  and  pleasure 
of  making  the  acquaintance  of  Voltaire ;  of  whom,  in  after  years, 
he  wrote  a  memoir.  "  As  a  companion,"  says  he,  "  no  man  ever 
exceeded  him  when  he  pleased  to  lead  the  conversation ;  which, 
however,  was  not  always  the  case.  In  company  which  he  either 
disliked  or  despised,  few  could  be  more  reserved  than  he ;  but 
when  he  was  warmed  in  discourse,  and  got  over  a  hesitating  man- 
ner, which  sometimes  he  was  subject  to,  it  was  rapture  to  hear  him. 
His  meager  visage  seemed  insensibly  to  gather  beauty :  every 
muscle  in  it  had  meaning,  and  his  eye  beamed  with  unusual 
brightness.  The  person  who  writes  this  memoir,"  continues  he, 
"  remembers  to  have  seen  him  in  a  select  company  of  wits  of  both 
sexes  at  Paris,  when  tlie  subject  happened  to  turn  upon  English 
taste  and  learning.  Fontenelle,  (then  nearly  a  hundred  years 
old,)  who  was  of  the  party,  and  who  being  unacquainted  with  the 
language  or  authors  of  the  country  he  undertook  to  condemn, 
with  a  spirit  truly  vulgar  began  to  revile  both.  Diderot,  who 
liked  the  English,  and  knew  something  of  their  literary  preten- 
sions, attempted  to  vindicate  their  poetry  and  learning,  but  with 
unequal  abilities.  The  company  quickly  perceived  that  Fontenelle 
was  superior  in  the  dispute,  and  were  surprised  at  the  silence 
which  Voltaire  had  preserved  all  the  former  part  of  the  night, 
particularly  as  the  conversation  happened  to  turn  upon  one  of 
his  favorite  topics.     Fontenelle  continued  his  triumph  until  about 


SKETCH  OF  VOLTAIRE.  73 


twelve  o'clock,  when  Voltaire  appeared  at  last  roused  from  his 
reverie.  His  whole  frame  seemed  animated.  He  began  his  de- 
fence with  the  utmost  defiance  mixed  with  spirit,  and  now  and 
then  let  fall  the  finest  strokes  of  raillery  upon  his  antagonist ; 
and  his  harangue  lasted  till  three  in  the  morning.  I  must  con- 
fess, that,  whether  from  national  partiality,  or  from  the  elegant 
sensibility  of  his  manner,  I  never  was  so  charmed,  nor  did  I  ever 
remember  so  absolute  a  victory  as  he  gained  in  this  dispute." 
Goldsmith's  ramblings  took  him  into  G-ermany  and  Switzerland, 
from  which  last  mentioned  country  he  sent  to  his  brother  in  Ire- 
land the  first  brief  sketch,  afterwards  amplified  into  his  poem  of 
the  "Traveller." 

At  Geneva  he  became  travelling  tutor  to  a  mongrel  young 
gentleman,  son  of  a  London  pawnbroker,  who  had  been  suddenly 
elevated  into  fortune  and  absurdity  by  the  death  of  an  uncle. 
The  youth,  before  setting  up  for  a  gentleman,  had  been  an  attor- 
ney's apprentice,  and  was  an  arrant  pettifogger  in  money  matters. 
Never  were  two  beings  more  illy  assorted  than  he  and  Goldsmith. 
We  may  form  an  idea  of  the  tutor  and  the  pupil  from  the  follow- 
ing extract  from  the  narrative  of  the  "  Philosophic  Vagabond." 

"  I  was  to  be  the  young  gentleman's  governor,  but  with  a  pro- 
viso that  he  should  always  be  permitted  to  govern  himself.  My 
pupil,  in  fact,  understood  the  art  of  guiding  in  money  concerns 
much  better  than  I.  He  was  heir  to  a  fortune  of  about  two 
hundred  thousand  pounds,  left  him  by  an  uncle  in  the  West 
Indies  ;  and  his  guardians,  to  qualify  him  for  the  management  of 
it,  had  bound  him  apprentice  to  an  attorney.  Thus  avarice  was 
his  prevailing  passion ;  all  his  questions  on  the  road  were,  how 
money  might  be  saved — which  was  the  least  expensive  course  of 
travel — whether  any  thing  could  be  bought  that  would  turn  to 

4 


74  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


account  when  disposed  of  again  in  London  ?  Such  curiosities  on 
the  way  as  could  be  seen  for  nothing,  he  was  ready  enough  to 
look  at ;  but  if  the  sight  of  them  was  to  be  paid  for,  he  usually 
asserted  that  he  had  been  told  that  they  were  not  worth  seeing. 
He  never  paid  a  bill  that  he  would  not  observe  how  amazingly 
expensive  travelling  was :  and  all  this  though  not  yet  twenty-one." 

In  this  sketch  Goldsmith  undoubtedly  shadows  forth  his  an- 
noyances as  travelling  tutor  to  this  concrete  young  gentleman, 
compounded  of  the  pawnbroker,  the  pettifogger,  and  the  West 
Indian  heir,  with  an  overlaying  of  the  city  miser.  They  had 
continual  difficulties  on  all  points  of  expense  until  they  reached 
Marseilles,  where  both  were  glad  to  separate. 

Once  more  on  foot,  but  freed  from  the  irksome  duties  of 
'  bear  leader,'  and  with  some  of  his  pay,  as  tutor,  in  his  pocket, 
Groldsmith  continued  his  half  vagrant  peregrinations  through 
part  of  France  and  Piedmont,  and  some  of  the  Italian  States. 
He  had  acquired,  as  has  been  shown,  a  habit  of  shifting  along 
and  living  by  expedients,  and  a  new  one  presented  itself  in  Italy. 
"  My  skill  in  music,"  says  he,  in  the  Philosophic  Vagabond, 
'•  could  avail  me  nothing  in  a  country  where  every  peasant  was  a 
better  musician  than  I ;  but  by  this  time  I  had  acquired  another 
talent,  which  answered  my  purpose  as  well,  and  this  was  a  skill 
in  disputation.  In  all  the  foreign  universities  and  convents 
there  are,  upon  certain  days,  philosophical  theses  maintained 
against  every  adventitious  disputant :  for  which,  if  the  champion 
opposes  with  any  dexterity,  he  can  claim  a  gratuity  in  money,  a 
dinner,  and  a  bed  for  one  night."  Though  a  poor  wandering 
scholar,  his  reception  in  these  learned  piles  was  as  free  from  hu- 
miliation as  in  the  cottages  of  the  peasantry.  "  With  the  mem- 
bers of  these  establishments,"  said  he,  "I  could  converse  on 


TRAVELLING  SHIFTS.  75^ 


topics  of  literature,  and  tJien  I  alivays  forgot  tJie  mean?iess  of  my 
circumstances  P 

At  Padua,  where  he  remained  some  months,  he  is  said  to  have 
taken  his  medical  degree.  It  is  probable  he  was  brought  to  a 
pause  in  this  city  by  the  death  of  his  uncle  Contarine ;  who  had 
hitherto  assisted  him  in  his  wanderings  by  occasional,  though,  of 
course,  slender  remittances.  Deprived  of  this  source  of  supplieSj^- 
he  wrote  to  his  friends  in  Ireland,  and  especially  to  his  brother- 
in-law,  Hodson,  describing  his  destitute  situation.  His  letters 
brought  him  neither  money  nor  reply.  It  appears,  from  subse- 
quent correspondence,  that  his  brother-in-law  actually  exerted 
himself  to  raise  a  subscription  for  his  assistance  among  his  rela- 
tives, friends  and  acquaintance,  but  without  success.  Their  faith 
and  hope  in  him  were  most  probably  at  an  end  ;  as  yet  he  had 
disappointed  them  at  every  point,  he  had  given  none  of  the  an- 
ticipated proofs  of  talent,  and  they  were  too  poor  to  support 
what  they  may  have  considered  the  wandering  propensities  of  a 
heedless  spendthrift. 

Thus  left  to  his  own  precarious  resources,  Goldsmith  gave 
up  all  further  wandering  in  Italy,  without  visiting  the  south, 
though  Rome  and  Naples  must  have  held  out  powerful  attractions 
to  one  of  his  poetical  cast.  Once  more  resuming  his  pilgrim 
staff,  he  turned  his  face  toward  England,  '•  walking  along  from 
city  to  city,  examining  mankind  more  nearly,  and  seeing  both 
sides  of  the  picture."^  In  traversing  France  his  flute — his  magic 
flute  ! — was  once  more  in  requisition,  as  we  may  conclude,  by  the 
following  passage  in  his  Traveller  : 

"  Gay,  sprightly  land  of  mirth  and  social  ease. 
Pleased  with  thyself,  whom  all  the  world  can  please. 


76  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


How  often  have  I  led  thy  sportive  choir 
With  tuneless  pipe  beside  the  murmuring  Loire  ! 
Where  shading  elms  along  the  margin  grew. 
And  freshened  from  the  wave  the  zephyr  flew  ; 
And  haply  though  my  harsh  note  falt'ring  still, 
But  mocked  all  tune,  and  marr'd  the  dancer's  skill 
Yet  would  the  village  praise  my  wondrous  power, 
And  dance  forgetfril  of  the  noontide  hour. 
Alike  all  ages :   Dames  of  ancient  days 
Have  led  their  children  through  the  mirthful  maze. 
And  the  gay  grandsire,  skill'd  in  gestic  lore. 
Has  frisk'd  beneath  the  burden  of  three-score" 


LAUNCH  UPON  LONDON.  77 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Landing  in  England. — Shifts  of  a  man  without  money. — The  pestle  and 
mortar. — Theatricals  in  a  barn. — Launch  upon  London. — A  city  night 
scene. — Struggles  with  penury. — Miseries  of  a  tutor. — A  doctor  in  the 
suburb. — Poor  practice  and  second-hand  finery. — A  tragedy  in  embryo. — 
Project  of  the  written  mountains. 

After  two  years  spent  in  roving  about  the  continent,  "  pursuing 
novelty,"  as  he  said,  "  and  losing  content,"  Goldsmith  landed  at 
Dover  early  in  1756.  He  appears  to  have  had  no  definite  plan 
of  action.  The  death  of  his  uncle  Contarine,  and  the  neglect  of 
his  relatives  and  friends  to  reply  to  his  letters,  seem  to  have  pro- 
duced in  him  a  temporary  feeling  of  loneliness  and  destitution, 
and  his  only  thought  was  to  get  to  London,  and  throw  himself 
upon  the  world.  But  how  was  he  to  get  there  1  His  purse  was 
empty.  England  was  to  him  as  completely  a  foreign  land  as  any 
part  of  the  continent,  and  where  on  earth  is  a  penniless  stranger 
more  destitute  ?  His  flute  and  his  philosophy  were  no  longer  of 
any  avail ;  the  English  boors  cared  nothing  for  music  ;  there 
were  no  convents ;  and  as  to  the  learned  and  the  clergy,  not  one 
of  them  would  give  a  vagrant  scholar  a  supper  and  night's  lodg- 
ing for  the  best  thesis  that  ever  was  argued.  "  You  may  easily 
imagine,"  says  he,  in  a  subsequent  letter  to  his  brother-in-law, 
"what  difficulties  I  had  to  encounter,  left  as  I  was  without 
friends,  recommendations,  mon«y,  or  impudence,  and  that  in  a 


78  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


country  where  being  born  an  Irishman  was  sufficient  to  keep  me 
unemployed.  Many,  in  such  circumstances,  would  have  had 
recourse  to  the  friar's  cord  or  the  suicide's  halter.  But,  with  all 
my  follies,  I  had  principle  to  resist  the  one,  and  resolution  to 
combat  the  other." 

He  applied  at  one  place,  we  are  told,  for  employment  in  the 
shop  of  a  country  apothecary ;  but  all  his  medical  science  ga- 
thered in  foreign  universities  could  not  gain  him  the  management 
of  a  pestle  and  mortar.  He  even  resorted,  it  is  said,  to  the  stage 
as  a  temporary  expedient,  and  figured  in  low  comedy  at  a  country 
town  in  Kent.  This  accords  with  his  last  shift  of  the  Philo- 
sophic Vagabond,  and  with  the  knowledge  of  country  theatricals 
displayed  in  his  "  Adventures  of  a  Strolling  Player,"  or  may  be 
a  story  suggested  by  them.  All  this  part  of  his  career,  however, 
in  which  he  must  have  trod  the  lowest  paths  of  humility,  are  only 
to  be  conjectured  from  vague  traditions,  or  scraps  of  autobi- 
ography gleaned  from  his  miscellaneous  writings. 

At  length  we  find  him  launched  on  the  great  metropolis,  or 
rather  drifting  about  its  streets,  at  night,  in  the  gloomy  month 
of  February,  with  but  a  few  half-pence  in  his  pocket.  The 
Deserts  of  Arabia  are  not  more  dreary  and  inhospitable  than 
the  streets  of  London  at  such  a  time,  and  to  a  stranger  in 
such  a  plight.  Do  we  want  a  picture  as  an  illustration  ?  We  have 
it  in  his  own  works,  and  furnished,  doubtless,  from  his  own  ex- 
perience. 

"  The  clock  has  just  struck  two  ;  what  a  gloom  hangs  all 
around  !  no  sound  is  heard  but  of  the  chiming  clock,  or  the  distant 
watch-dog.  How  few  appear  in  those  streets,  which  but  some 
few  hours  p^o  were  crowded  !  But  who  are  those  who  make  the 
streets  their  couch,  and  find  a  short  repose  from  wretchedness  at 


MISERIES  OF  A  TUTOR.  79 


the  doors  of  the  opulent  ?  They  are  strangers,  wanderers,  and 
orphans,  whose  circumstances  are  too  humble  to  expect  redress, 
and  whose  distresses  are  too  great  even  for  pity.  Some  are  with- 
out the  covering  even  of  rags,  and  others  emaciated  with  disease  ; 
the  world  has  disclaimed  them  ;  society  turns  its  back  upon  their 
distress,  and  has  given  them  up  to  nakedness  and  hunger.  Th£i& 
'poor  shivering  females  have  once  seen  liappier  days,  and  been  flat- 
tered into  beauty.  They  are  now  turned  out  to  meet  the  severity 
of  winter.  Perhaps  now,  lying  at  the  doors  of  their  betrayers, 
they  sue  to  wretches  whose  hearts  are  insensible,  or  debauchees 
who  may  curse,  but  will  not  relieve  them. 

"  Why,  why  was  I  born  a  man,  and  yet  see  the  sufferings  of 
wretches  I  cannot  relieve  !  Poor  houseless  creatures !  The 
world  will  give  you  reproaches,  but  will  not  give  you  relief" 

Poor  houseless  Goldsmith  !  we  may  here  ejaculate — to  what 
shifts  he  must  have  been  driven  to  find  shelter  and  sustenance 
for  himself  in  this  his  first  venture  into  London  !  Many  years 
afterwards,  in  the  days  of  his  social  elevation,  he  startled  a  polite 
circle  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  by  humorously  dating  an  anec- 
dote about  the  time  he  "  lived  among  the  beggars  of  Axe  Lane." 
Such  may  have  been  the  desolate  quarters  with  which  he  was 
fain  to  content  himself  when  thus  adrift  upon  the  town,  with  but 
a  few  half-pence  in  his  pocket. 

The  first  authentic  trace  we  have  of  him  in  this  new  part  of 
his  career,  is  filling  the  situation  of  an  usher  to  a  school,  and 
even  this  employ  he  obtained  with  some  difficulty,  after  a  refer- 
ence for  a  character  to  his  friends  in  the  University  of  Dublin. 
In  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  he  makes  George  Primrose  undergo 
a  whimsical  catechism  concerning  the  requisites  for  an  usher. 
"  Have  you   been  bred  apprentice  to   the   business  ?"      "  No." 


80  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


"  Then  you  won't  do  for  a  school.  Can  you  dress  the  boys' 
hair?"  "No."  "  Then  you  won't  do  for  a  school.  Can  you  lie 
three  in  a  bed  ?"  "  No."  "  Then  you  will  never  do  for  a  school. 
Have  you  a  good  stomach  ?"  "  Yes."  "  Then  you  will  by  no 
means  do  for  a  school.  I  have  been  an  usher  in  a  boarding 
school,  myself,  and  may  I  die  of  an  anodyne  necklace,  but  I  had 
rather  be  under-turnkey  in  Newgate.  I  was  up  early  and  late : 
I  was  browbeat  by  the  master,  hated  for  my  ugly  face  by  the  mis- 
tress, worried  by  the  boys." 

Goldsmith  remained  but  a  short  time  in  this  situation,  and 
to  the  mortifications  experienced  there,  we  doubtless  owe  the  pic- 
turings  given  in  his  writings  of  the  hardships  of  an  usher's  life. 
"  He  is  generally,"  says  he,  "  the  laughing-stock  of  the  school. 
Every  trick  is  played  upon  him  ;  the  oddity  of  his  manner,  his 
dress,  or  his  language,  is  a  fund  of  eternal  ridicule  ;  the  master 
himself  now  and  then  cannot  avoid  joining  in  the  laugh  ;  and  the 
poor  wretch,  eternally  resenting  this  ill  usage,  lives  in  a  state  of 

war  with  all  the  family." "  He  is  obliged,  perhaps,  to  sleep  in 

the  same  bed  with  the  French  teacher,  who  disturbs  him  for  an 
hour  every  night  in  papering  and  filleting  his  hair,  and  stinks 
worse  than  a  carrion  with  his  rancid  pomatums,  when  he  lays  his 
head  beside  him  on  the  bolster." 

His  next  shift  was  as  assistant  in  the  laboratory  of  a  chemist 
near  Fish-street  Hill.  After  remaining  here  a  few  months,  he 
heard  that  Dr.  Sleigh,  who  had  been  his  friend  and  fellow- 
Student  at  Edinburgh,  was  in  London.  Eager  to  meet  with 
a  friendly  face  in  this  land  of  strangers,  he  immediately  called 
on  him  ;  "  but  though  it  was  Sunday,  and  it  is  to  be  supposed 
I  was  in  my  best  clothes,  Sleigh  scarcely  knew  me — such  is 
the   tax  the  unfortunate  pay  to  poverty.      However,  when  he 


A  DOCTOR  IN  THE   SUBURB.  81 


did  recollect  me,  I  found  his  heart  as  warm  as  ever,  and  he 
shared  his  purse  and  friendship  with  me  during  his  continuance 
in  London." 

Through  the  advice  and  assistance  of  Dr.  Sleigh,  he  now  com- 
menced the  practice  of  medicine,  but  in  a  small  way,  in  Bank- 
side,  Southwark,  and  chiefly  among  the  poor ;  for  he  wanted  the 
figure,  address,  polish,  and  management,  to  succeed  among  the 
rich.  His  old  schoolmate  and  college  companion,  Beatty,  who 
used  to  aid  him  with  his  purse  at  the  university,  met  him  about 
this  time,  decked  out  in  the  tarnished  finery  of  a  second-hand 
suit  of  green  and  gold,  with  a  shirt  and  neckcloth  of  a  fort- 
night's wear. 

Poor  Goldsmith  endeavored  to  assume  a  prosperous  air  in 
the  eyes  of  his  early  associate.  "  He  was  practising  physic,"  he 
said,  •'  and  doing  very  ivdl .'"  At  this  moment  poverty  was 
pinching  him  to  the  bone  in  spite  of  his  practice  and  his  dirty 
finery.  His  fees  were  necessarily  small,  and  ill  paid,  and  he  was 
fain  to  seek  some  precarious  assistance  from  his  pen.  Here 
his  quondam  fellow-student,  Dr.  Sleigh,  was  again  of  service, 
introducing  him  to  some  of  the  booksellers,  wlio  gave  him  occa- 
sional, though  starveling,  employment.  According  to  tradition, 
however,  his  most  efficient  patron  just  now,  was  a  journeyman 
printer,  one  of  his  poor  patients  of  Bankside  ;  who  had  formed 
a  good  opinion  of  his  talents,  and  perceived  his  poverty  and  his 
literary  shifts.  The  printer  was  in  the  employ  of  Mr.  Samuel 
Richardson,  the  author  of  Pamela,  Clarissa,  and  Sir  Charles 
Grandison  ;  who  combined  the  novelist  and  the  publisher,  and 
was  in  flourishing  circumstances.  Through  the  journeyman's 
intervention  Goldsmith  is  said  to  have  become  acquainted  with 

Richardson,  who  employed  him  as  reader  and  corrector  of  the 

4# 


82  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


press,  at  his  printing  establishment  in  Salisbury  Court ;  an  occu- 
pation which  he  alternated  with  his  medical  duties. 

Being  admitted  occasionally  to  Richardson's  parlor,  he  began 
to  form  literary  acquaintances,  among  whom  the  most  important 
was  Dr.  Young,  the  author  of  Night  Thoughts,  a  poem  in  the 
height  of  fashion.  It  is  not  probable,  however,  that  much  famil- 
iarity took  place  'at  the  time  between  the  literary  lion  of  the 
day  and  the  poor  jEsculapius  of  Bankside,  the  humble  corrector 
of  the  press.  Still  the  communion  with  literary  men  had  its 
effect  to  set  his  imagination  teeming.  Dr.  Farr,  one  of  his 
Edinburgh  fellow-students,  who  was  at  London  about  this  time, 
attending  the  hospitals  and  lectures,  gives  us  an  amusing  ac- 
count of  Goldsmith  in  his  literary  character. 

"  Early  in  January  he  called  upon  me  one  morning  before  I 
was  up,  and,  on  my  entering  the  room,  I  recognized  my  old  ac- 
quaintance, dressed  in  a  rusty,  full-trimmed  black  suit,  with  his 
pockets  full  of  papers,  which  instantly  reminded  me  of  the  poet 
in  Garrick's  farce  of  Lethe.  After  we  had  finished  our  break- 
fast, he  drew  from  his  pocket  part  of  a  tragedy,  which  he  said  he 
had  brought  for  my  correction.  In  vain  I  pleaded  inability, 
when  he  began  to  read  ;  and  every  part  on  which  I  expressed  a 
doubt  as  to  the  propriety  was  immediately  blotted  out.  I  then 
most  earnestly  pressed  him  not  to  trust  to  my  judgment,  but  to 
take  the  opinion  of  persons  better  qualified  to  decide  on  dramatic 
compositions.  He  now  told  me  he  had  submitted  his  produc- 
tion, so  far  as  he  had  written,  to  Mr.  Richardson,  the  author  of 
Clarissa,  on  which  I  peremptorily  declined  ofi"ering  another  criti- 
cism on  the  performance." 

From  the  graphic  description  given  of  him  by  Dr.  Farr,  it 
will  be  perceived  that  the  tarnished  finery  of  green  and  gold  had 


A  TRAGEDY  IN  EMBRYO.  88 


been  succeeded  by  a  professional  suit  of  black,  to  which,  we  are 
told,  were  added  the  wig  and  cane  indispensable  to  medical  doc- 
tors in  those  days.  The  coat  was  a  second-hand  one,  of  rusty 
velvet,  with  a  patch  on  the  left  breast,  which  he  adroitly  covered 
with  his  three-cornered  hat  during  his  medical  visits ;  and  we 
have  an  amusing  anecdote  of  his  contest  of  courtesy  with  a  pa- 
tient who  persisted  in  endeavoring  to  relieve  him  from  the  hat, 
which  only  made  him  press  it  more  devoutly  to  his  heart. 

Nothing  further  has  ever  been  heard  of  the  tragedy  men- 
tioned by  Dr.  Farr ;  it  was  probably  never  completed.  The 
same  gentleman  speaks  of  a  strange  Quixotic  scheme  which  Grold- 
smith  had  in  contemplation  at  the  time,  "  of  going  to  decipher 
the  inscriptions  on  the  written  mou7itains^  though  he  was  alto- 
gether ignorant  of  Arabic,  or  the  language  in  which  they  might 
be  supposed  to  be  written.  "  The  salary  of  three  hundred 
pounds,"  adds  Dr.  Farr,  "  which  had  been  left  for  the  purpose, 
was  the  temptation."  This  was  probably  one  of  many  dreamy 
projects  with  which  his  fervid  brain  was  apt  to  teem.  On  such 
subjects  he  was  prone  to  talk  vaguely  and  magnificently,  but 
inconsiderately,  from  a  kindled  imagination  rather  than  a  well- 
instructed  judgment.  He  had  always  a  great  notion  of  expedi- 
tions to  the  East,  and  wonders  to  be  seen  and  effected  in  the 
oriental  countries. 


84  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  YII. 

Life  of  a  pedagogue. — Kindness  to  schoolboys — pertness  in  return. — Expensive 
charities. — The  Griffiths  and  the  "  Monthly  Review." — Toils  of  a  literary 
hack. — Rupture  vi^ith  the  Griffiths, 

Among  the  most  cordial  of  Groldsmitli's  intimates  in  London 
during  this  time  of  precarious  struggle,  were  certain  of  his 
former  fellow-students  in  Edinburgh.  One  of  these  was  the  son 
of  a  Dr.  Milner,  a  dissenting  minister,  who  kept  a  classical  school 
of  eminence  at  Peckham,  in  Surrey.  Young  Milner  had  a  favora- 
ble opinion  of  Goldsmith's  abilities  and  attainments,  and  cherished 
for  him  that  good  will  which  his  genial  nature  seems  ever  to  have 
inspired  among  his  school  and  college  associates.  His  father 
falling  ill,  the  young  man  negotiated  with  Goldsmith  to  take  tem- 
porary charge  of  the  school.  The  latter  readily  consented ;  for 
he  was  discouraged  by  the  slow  growth  of  medical  reputation  and 
practice,  and  as  yet  had  no  confidence  in  the  coy  smiles  of  the 
muse.  Laying  by  his  wig  and  cane,  therefore,  and  once  more 
wielding  the  ferule,  he  resumed  the  character  of  the  pedagogue, 
and  for  some  time  reigned  as  vicegerent  over  the  academy  at 
Peckham.  He  appears  to  have  been  well  treated  by  both  Dr. 
Milner  and  his  wife  :  and  became  a  favorite  with  the  scholars 
from  his  easy,  indulgent  good  nature.  He  mingled  in  their 
sports ;  told  them  droll  stories ;    played  on  the  flute  for  their 


EXPENSIVE  CHARITIES.  85 


amusement,  and  spent  his  money  in  treating  them  to  sweetmeats 
and  other  schoolboy  dainties.  His  familiarity  was  sometimes 
carried  too  far ;  he  indulged  in  boyish  pranks  and  practical 
jokes,  and  drew  upon  himself  retorts  in  kind,  which,  however,  he 
bore  with  great  good  humor.  Once,  indeed,  he  was  touched  to 
the  quick  by  a  piece  of  schoolboy  pertness.  After  playing  on  the 
flute,  he  spoke  with  enthusiasm  of  music,  as  delightful  in  itself, 
and  as  a  valuable  accomplishment  for  a  gentleman,  whereupon  a 
youngster,  with  a  glance  at  his  ungainly  person,  wished  to  know 
if  he  considered  himself  a  gentleman.  Poor  Goldsmith,  feelingly 
alive  to  the  awkwardness  of  his  appearance  and  the  humility  of 
his  situation,  winced  at  this  unthinking  sneer,  which  long  rankled 
in  his  mind. 

As  usual,  while  in  Dr.  Milner's  employ,  his  benevolent  feel- 
ings were  a  heavy  tax  upon  his  purse,  for  he  never  could  resist  a 
tale  of  distress,  and  was  apt  to  be  fleeced  by  every  sturdy  beg- 
gar ;  so  that,  between  his  charity  and  his  munificence,  he  was 
generally  in  advance  of  his  slender  salary.  "  Ypu  had  better, 
Mr.  Goldsmith,  let  me  take  care  of  your  money,"  said  Mrs.  Mil- 
ner  one  day,  "  as  I  do  for  some  of  the  young  gentlemen." — "  In 
truth,  madam,  there  is  equal  need !"  was  the  good-humored 
reply. 
^^  Dr.   Milner   was  a  man  of   some   literary  pretensions,  and 

^  "^  wrote  occasionally  for  the  "  Monthly  Review,"  of  which  a  booksel- 
ler, by  the  name  of  Grifiiths,  was  proprietor.  This  work  was  an 
advocate  for  Whig  principles,  and  had  been  in  prosperous  exist- 
ence for  nearly  eight  years.  Of  late,  however,  periodicals  had 
multiplied  exceedingly,  and  a  formidable  Tory  rival  had  started 
up  in  the  "  Critical  Review,"  published  by  Archibald  Hamilton,  a 
bookseller,  and  aided  by  the  powerful  and  popular  pen  of  Dr. 


86  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


Smollett.  Griffiths  was  obliged  to  recruit  his  forces.  While  so 
doing  he  met  Goldsmith,  a  humble  occupant  of  a  seat  at  Dr. 
Milner's  table,  and  was  struck  with  remarks  on  men  and  books, 
which  fell  from  him  in  the  course  of  conversation.  He  took 
occasion  to  sound  him  privately  as  to  his  inclination  and  capa- 
city as  a  reviewer,  and  was  furnished  by  him  with  specimens 
of  his  literary  and  critical  talents.  They  proved  satisfactory. 
The  consequence  was  that  Goldsmith  once  more  changed  his 
mode  of  life,  and  in  April,  1757,  became  a  contributor  to  the 
"  Monthly  Review,"  at  a  small  fixed  salary,  with  board  and 
lodging :  and  accordingly  took  up  his  abode  with  Mr.  Griffiths,  at 
the  sign  of  the  Dunciad,  Paternoster  Row.  As  usual  we  trace 
this  phase  of  his  fortunes  in  his  semi-fictitious  writings ;  his 
sudden  transmutation  of  the  pedagogue  into  the  author,  being 
humorously  set  forth  in  the  case  of  '  George  Primrose,'  in  the 
"  Vicar  of  Wakefield."  "  Come,"  says  George's  adviser,  "  I  see 
you  are  a  lad  of  spirit  and  some  learning ;  what  do  think  of  com- 
mencing author  like  me  1  You  have  read  in  books,  no  doubt,  of 
men  of  genius  starving  at  the  trade :  at  present  I'll  show  you 
forty  very  dull  fellows  about  town  that  live  by  it  in  opulence. 
All  honest,  jog-trot  men,  who  go  on  smoothly  and  dully,  and 
write  history  and  politics,  and  are  praised :  men,  sir,  who  had 
they  been  bred  cobblers,  would  all  their  lives  only  have  mended 
shoes,  but  never  made  them."  "  Finding"  (says  George)  "  that 
there  was  no  great  degree  of  gentility  affixed  to  the  character  of 
an  usher,  I  resolved  to  accept  his  proposal ;  and,  having  the  highest 
respect  for  literature,  hailed  the  antiqua  mater  of  Grub-street 
with  reverence.  I  thought  it  my  glory  to  pursue  a  track  which 
Dryden  and  Otway  trod  before  me."  Alas,  Dryden  struggled 
with  indigence  all  his  days ;  and  Otway,  it  is  said,  fell  a  victim 


A  LITERARY  HACK.  87 


t^J.,..^.^.,rjj 


to  famine  in  Lis  thirty-fifth  year,  being  st^HglM  by  a*  roll  of 
bread,  which  he  devoured  with  the  voracity  of  a  starving  man. 

In  Goldsmith's  experience  the  track  soon  proved  a  thorny 
one.  Griffiths  was  a  hard  business  man,  of  shrewd,  worldly  good 
sense,  but  little  refinement  or  cultivation.  He  meddled  or 
rather  muddled  with  literature,  too,  in  a  business  way,  altering 
and  modifying  occasionally  the  writings  of  his  contributors,  and 
in  this  he  was  aided  by  his  wife,  who,  according  to  Smollett,  was 
'•  an  antiquated  female  critic  and  a  dabbler  in  the  '  Review.'  "  Such 
was  the  literary  vassalage  to  which  Goldsmith  had  unwarily  sub- 
jected himself  A  diurnal  drudgery  was  imposed  on  him,  irk- 
some to  his  indolent  habits,  and  attended  by  circumstances 
humiliating  to  his  pride.  He  had  to  write  daily  from  nine 
o'clock  until  two,  and  often  throughout  the  day ;  whether  in  the 
vein  or  not,  and  on  subjects  dictated  by  his  task-master,  however 
foreign  to  his  taste ;  in  a  word,  he  was  treated  as  a  mere  literary 
hack.  But  this  was  not  the  worst ;  it  was  the  critical  supervision 
of  Griffiths  and  his  wife,  which  grieved  him :  the  "  illiterate, 
bookselling  Griffiths,"  as  Smollett  called  them,  "  who  presumed  to" 
revise,  alter  and  amend  the  articles  contributed  to  their  'Re- 
view.' Thank  heaven,"  crowed  Smollett,  "  the  '  Critical  Review  ' 
is  not  written  under  the  restraint  of  a  bookseller  and  his  wife. 
Its  principal  writers  are  independent  of  each  other,  unconnected 
with  booksellers  and  unawed  by  old  women  !" 

This  literary  vassalage,  however,  did  not  last  long.  The 
bookseller  became  more  and  more  exacting.  He  accused  his 
hack  writer  of  idleness;  of  abandoning  his  writing-desk  and 
literary  workshop  at  an  early  hour  of  the  day ;  and  of  assuming 
a  tone  and  manner  above  his  situation.  Goldsmith,  in  return, 
charged  him   with  impertinence ;  his  wife,  with  meanness  and 


88  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


parsimony  in  her  household  treatment  of  him,  and  both  of  literary 
meddling  and  marring.  The  engagement  was  broken  off  at  the 
end  of  five  months,  by  mutual  consent,  and  without  any  violent 
rupture,  as  it  will  be  found  they  afterwards  had  occasional  deal- 
ings with  each  other. 

Though  Groldsmith  was  now  nearly  thirty  years  of  age,  he 
had  produced  nothing  to  give  him  a  decided  reputation.  He 
was  as  yet  a  mere  writer  for  bread.  The  articles  he  had  con- 
tributed to  the  "  Review "  were  anonymous,  and  were  never 
avowed  by  him.  They  have  since  been,  for  the  most  part,  ascer- 
tained ;  and  though  thrown  off  hastily,  often  treating  on  subjects 
of  temporary  interest,  and  marred  by  the  Griffith  interpolations, 
they  are  still  characterized  by  his  sound,  easy  good  sense,  and  the 
genial  graces  of  his  style.  Johnson  observed  that  Goldsmith's 
genius  flowered  late ;  he  should  have  said  it  flowered  early,  but 
was  late  in  bringing  its  fruit  to  maturity. 


NBWBERY,  OF  PICTURE-BOOK  MEMORY.  89 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Newbery,  of  picture-book  memory. — How  to  keep  up  appearances. — Miseries  , 
of  authorship. — A  poor  relation. — Letter  to  Hodson. 

Being  now  known  in  the  puHisliing  world,  Goldsmith  began  to 
find  casual  employment  in  various  quarters ;  among  others  he  »/ 
wrote  occtisionally  for  the  Literary  Magazine,  a  production  set 
on  foot  by  Mr.  John  Newbery,  bookseller,  St.  Paul's  Church- 
yard, renowned  in  nursery  literature  throughout  the  latter  half 
of  the  last  century  for  his  picture-books  for  children.  Newbery 
was  a  worthy,  intelligent,  kind-hearted  man,  and  a  seasonable, 
though  cautious  friend  to  authors,  relieving  them  with  small 
loans  when  in  pecuniary  difficulties,  though  always  taking  care 
to  be  well  repaid  by  the  labor  of  their  pens.  Goldsmith  intro- 
duces him  in  a  humorous  yet  friendly  manner  in  his  novel  of 
the  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  "  This  person  was  no  other  than  the 
philanthropic  bookseller  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,  who  has  writ- 
ten so  many  little  books  for  children ;  he  called  himself  their 
friend ;  but  he  was  the  friend  of  all  mankind.  He  was  no 
sooner  alighted  but  he  was  in  haste  to  be  gone ;  for  he  was 
ever  on  business  of  importance,  and  was  at  that  time  actually 
compiling  materials  for  the  history  of  one  Mr.  Thomas  Trip. 
I  immediately  recollected  this  good-natured  man's  red-pimpled 
face." 


90  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


Besides  his  literary  job  work,  Goldsmith  also  resumed  his 
medical  practice,  but  with  very  trifling  success.  The  scantiness 
of  his  purse  still  obliged  him  to  live  in  obscure  lodgings  some- 
where in  the  vicinity  of  Salisbury  Square,  Fleet-street ;  but  his 
extended  acquaintance  and  rising  importance  caused  him  to  con- 
sult appearances.  He  adopted  an  expedient,  then  very  common, 
and  still  practised  in  London  among  those  who  have  to  tread  the 
narrow  path  between  pride  and  poverty ;  while  he  burrowed  in 
lodgings  suited  to  his  means,  he  "  hailed,"  as  it  is  termed,  from 
the  Temple  Exchange  Coffee-house  near  Temple  Bar.  Here 
he  received  his  medical  calls  ;  hence  he  dated  his  letters,  and 
here  he  passed  much  of  his  leisure  hours,  conversing  with  the 
/frequenters  of  the  place.  "  Thirty  pounds  a  year,"  said  a  poor 
Irish  painter,  who  understood  the  art  of  shifting,  "is  enough  to 
enable  a  man  to  live  in  London  without  being  contemptible. 
Ten  pounds  will  find  him  in  clothes  and  linen ;  he  can  live  in 
a  garret  on  eighteen  pence  a  week ;  hail  from  a  coffee-house, 
where,  by  occasionally  spending  threepence,  he  may  pass  some 
hours  each  day  in  good  company ;  he  may  breakfast  on  bread 
and  milk  for  a  penny  ;  dine  for  sixpence  ;  do  without  supper  ;  and 
on  clean-shirt-day  he  may  go  abroad  and  pay  visits." 

Goldsmith  seems  to  have  taken  a  leaf  from  this  poor  devil's 
manual  in  respect  to  the  coffee-house  at  least.  Indeed,  coffee- 
houses in  those  days  were  the  resorts  of  wits  and  literati ; 
where  the  topics  of  the  day  were  gossiped  over,  and  the  affairs 
of  literature  and  the  drama  discussed  and  criticised.  In  this 
way  he  enlarged  the  circle  of  his  intimacy,  which  now  embraced 
several  names  of  notoriety. 

Do  we  want  a  picture  of  Goldsmith's  experience  in  this  part 
of  his  career  ?  we  have  it  in  his  observations  on  the  life  of  an 


MISERIES  OF  AUTHORSHIP.  91 


author  in  the  "  Inquiry  into  the  state  of  polite  learning^''  pub- 
lished some  years  afterwards. 

"  The  author,  unpatronized  by  the  great,  has  naturally  re- 
course to  the  bookseller.  There  cannot,  perhaps,  be  imagined  a 
combination  more  prejudicial  to  taste  than  this.  It  is  the  inter- 
est of  the  one  to  allow  as  little  for  writing,  and  for  the  other  to 
write  as  much  as  possible  ;  accordingly,  tedious  compilations  and 
periodical  magazines  are  the  result  of  their  joint  endeavors.  In 
these  circumstances  the  author  bids  adieu  to  fame ;  writes  for 
bread  ;  and  for  that  only  imagination  is  seldom  called  in.  He 
sits  down  to  address  the  venal  muse  with  the  most  phlegmatic 
apathy  ;  and,  as  we  are  told  of  the  Russian,  courts  his  mistress 
by  falling  asleep  in  her  lap." 

Again.  "  Those  who  are  unacquainted  with  the  world  are 
apt  to  fancy  the  man  of  wit  as  leading  a  very  agreeable  life. 
They  conclude,  perhaps,  that  he  is  attended  with  silent  admira- 
tion, and  dictates  to  the  rest  of  mankind  with  all  the  eloquence 
of  conscious  superiority.  Very  different  is  his  present  situation. 
He  is  called  an  author,  and  all  know  that  an  author  is  a  thing 
only  to  be  laughed  at.  His  person,  not  his  jest,  becomes  the 
mirth  of  the  company.  At  his  approach  the  most  fat,  unthink- 
ing face  brightens  into  malicious  meaning.  Even  aldermen  laugh, 
and  avenge  on  him  the  ridicule  which  was  lavished  on  their  fore- 
fathers. *  #  *  #  Y^Q  poet's  poverty  is  a  stand- 
ing topic  of  contempt.  His  writing  for  bread  is  an  unpardona- 
ble offence.  Perhaps  of  all  mankind,  an  author  in  these  times 
is  used  most  hardly.  We  keep  him  poor,  and  yet  revile  his 
poverty.  We  reproach  him  for  living  by  his  wit,  and  yet  allow 
him  ro  other  means  to  live.  His  taking  refuge  in  garrets  and 
cellars,  has  of  late  been  violently  objected  to  him,  and  that  by 


92  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


men  who,  I  have  hope,  are  more  apt  to  pity  than  insult  his 
distress.  Is  poverty  a  careless  fault?  No  doubt  he  knows 
how  to  prefer  a  bottle  of  champagne  to  the  nectar  of  the  neigh- 
boring ale-house,  or  a  venison  pasty  to  a  plate  of  potatoes. 
Want  of  delicacy  is  not  in  him,  but  in  those  who  deny  him  the 
opportunity  of  making  an  elegant  choice.  Wit  certainly  is  the 
property  of  those  who  have  it,  nor  should  we  be  displeased  if  it 
is  the  only  property  a  man  sometimes  has.  We  must  not  under- 
rate him  who  uses  it  for  subsistence,  and  flees  from  the  ingrati- 
tude of  the  age,  even  to  a  bookseller  for  redress."    *      *      *      * 

"  If  the  author  be  necessary  among  us,  let  us  treat  him  with 
proper  consideration  as  a  child  of  the  public,  not  as  a  rent-charge 
on  the  community.  And  indeed  a  child  of  the  public  he  is  in 
all  respects ;  for  while  so  well  able  to  direct  others,  how  incapa- 
ble is  he  frequently  found  of  guiding  himself  His  simplicity 
exposes  him  to  all  the  insidious  approaches  of  cunning :  his  sen- 
sibility, to  the  slightest  invasions  of  contempt.  Though  possessed 
of  fortitude  to  stand  unmoved  the  expected  bursts  of  an  earth- 
quake, yet  of  feelings  so  exquisitely  poignant,  as  to  agonize  under 
the  slightest  disappointment.  Broken  rest,  tasteless  meals,  and 
causeless  anxieties  shorten  life  and  render  it  unfit  for  active  em- 
ployments ;  prolonged  vigils  and  intense  application  still  farther 
contract  his  span,  and  make  his  time  glide  insensibly  away." 

While  poor  Goldsmith  was  thus  struggling  with  the  difficul- 
ties and  discouragements  which  in  those  days  beset  the  path  of 
an  author,  his  friends  in  Ireland  received  accounts  of  his  literary 
success  and  of  the  distinguished  acquaintances  he  was  making. 
This  was  enough  to  put  the  wise  heads  at  Lissoy  and  Ballyma- 
hon  in  a  ferment  of  conjectures.  With  the  exaggerated  notions 
of  provincial  relatives  concerning  the  family  great  man  in  the 


LETTER  TO  HODSON.  93 


metropolis,  some  of  Goldsmith's  poor  kindred  pictured  him  to 
themselves  seated  in  high  places,  clothed  in  purple  and  fine 
linen,  and  hand  and  glove  with  the  givers  of  gifts  and  dispensers 
of  patronage.  Accordingly,  he  was  one  day  surprised  at  the  sud- 
den apparition,  in  his  miserable  lodging,  of  his  younger  brother 
Charles,  a  raw  youth  of  twenty-one,  endowed  with  a  double  share 
of  the  family  heedlessness,  and  who  expected  to  be  forthwith 
helped  into  some  snug  by-path  to  fortune  by  one  or  other  of 
Oliver's  great  friends.  Charles  was  sadly  disconcerted  on  learn- 
ing that,  so  far  from  being  able  to  provide  for  others,  his 
brother  could  scarcely  take  care  of  himself  He  looked  round 
with  a  rueful  eye  on  the  poet's  quarters,  and  could  not  help  ex- 
pressing his  surprise  and  disappointment  at  finding  him  no  bet- 
ter ofi".  "  All  in  good  time,  my  dear  boy,"  replied  poor  Gold- 
smith, with  infinite  good-humor  ;  "  I  shall  be  richer  by-and-by. 
Addison,  let  me  tell  you,  wrote  his  poem  of  the  '  Campaign  '  in 
a  garret  in  the  Haymarket,  three  stories  high,  and  you  see  I  am 
not  come  to  that  yet,  for  I  have  only  got  to  the  second  story." 

Charles  Goldsmith  did  not  remain  long  to  embarrass  his 
brother  in  London.  "With  the  same  roving  disposition  and  incon- 
siderate temper  of  Oliver,  he  suddenly  departed  in  an  humble 
capacity  to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  West  Indies,  and  nothing  was 
heard  of  him  for  above  thirty  years,  when,  after  having  been 
given  up  as  dead  by  his  friends,  he  made  his  reappearance  in 
England. 

Shortly  after  his  departure  Goldsmith  wrote  a  letter  to  his 
brother-in-law,  Daniel  Hodson,  Esq.,  of  which  the  following  is  an 
extract ;  it  was  partly  intended,  no  doubt,  to  dissipate  any  further 
illusions  concerning  his  fortunes  which  might  float  on  the  magni- 
ficent imagination  of  his  friends  in  Ballymahon. 


94  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


"  I  suppose  you  desire  to  know  my  present  situation.  As 
there  is  nothing  in  it  at  which  I  should  blush  or  which  mankind 
could  censure,  I  see  no  reason  for  making  it  a  secret.  In  short, 
by  a  very  little  practice  as  a  physician,  and  a  very  little  reputa- 
tion as  a  poet,  I  make  a  shift  to  live.  Nothing  is  more  apt  to  in- 
troduce us  to  the  gates  of  the  muses  than  poverty ;  but  it  were 
well  if  they  only  left  us  at  the  door.  The  mischief  is,  they  some- 
times choose  to  give  us  their  company  to  the  entertainment ;  and 
want,  instead  of  being  gentleman-usher,  often  turns  master  of  the 
ceremonies. 

"  Thus,  upon  learning  I  write,  no  doubt  you  imagine  I  starve ; 
and  the  name  of  an  author  naturally  reminds  you  of  a  garret. 
In  this  particular  I  do  not  think  proper  to  undeceive  my  friends. 
But,  whether  I  eat  or  starve,  live  in  a  first  floor  or  four  pairs  of 
stairs  high,  I  still  remember  them  with  ardor  ;  nay,  my  very 
country  comes  in  for  a  share  of  my  affection.  Unaccountable 
fondness  for  country,  this  maladie  du  pais^  as  the  French  call  it ! 
Unaccountable  that  he  should  still  have  an  affection  for  a  place, 
who  never,  when  in  it,  received  above  common  civility ;  who  never 
brought  any  thing  out  of  it  except  his  brogue  and  his  blunders. 
Surely  my  affection  is  equally  ridiculous  with  the  Scotchman's, 
who  refused  to  be  cured  of  the  itch  because  it  made  him  unco' 
thoughtful  of  his  wife  and  bonny  Inverary. 

"  But,  now,  to  be  serious  :  let  me  ask  myself  what  gives  me  a 
wish  to  see  Ireland  again.  The  country  is  a  fine  one,  perhaps  ? 
No.  There  are  good  company  in  Ireland  ?  No.  The  conversation 
there  is  generally  made  up  of  a  smutty  toast  or  a  bawdy  song ; 
the  vivacity  supported  by  some  humble  cousin,  who  had  just  folly 
enough  to  earn  his  dinner.  Then,  perhaps,  there's  more  wit  and 
learning  among   the  Irish?     Oh,  Lord,  no!     There  has   been 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  HOME.  95 


more  money  spent  in  the  encouragement  of  the  Padareen  mare 
there  one  season,  than  given  in  rewards  to  learned  men  since  the 
time  of  Usher.  All  their  productions  in  learning  amount  to 
perhaps  a  translation,  or  a  few  tracts  in  divinity ;  and  all  their 
productions  in  wit  to  just  nothing  at  all.  Why  the  plague,  then, 
so  fond  of  Ireland  2  Then,  all  at  once,  because  you,  my  dear 
friend,  and  a  few  more  who  are  exceptions  to  the  general  picture, 
have  a  residence  there.  This  it  is  that  gives  me  all  the  pangs  I 
feel  in  separation.  I  confess  I  carry  this  spirit  sometimes  to  the 
souring  the  pleasures  I  at  present  possess.  If  I  go  to  the  opera, 
where  Signora  Columba  pours  out  all  the  mazes  of  melody,  I  sit 
and  sigh  for  Lissoy  fireside,  and  Johnny  Armstrong's  '  Last 
Grood-night '  from  Peggy  Golden.  If  I  climb  Hampstead  Hill, 
than  where  nature  never  exhibited  a  more  magnificent  prospect, 
I  confess  it  fine ;  but  then  I  had  rather  be  placed  on  the  little 
mount  before  Lissoy  gate,  and  there  take  in,  to  me,  the  most 
pleasing  horizon  in  nature. 

"  Before  Charles  came  hither,  my  thoughts  sometimes  found 
refuge  from  severer  studies  among  my  friends  in  Ireland.  I 
fancied  strange  revolutions  at  home;  but  I  find  it  was  the 
rapidity  of  my  own  motion  that  gave  an  imaginary  one  to  objects 
really  at  rest.  No  alterations  there.  Some  friends,  he  tells  me, 
are  still  lean,  but  very  rich ;  others  very  fat,  but  still  very  poor. 
Nay,  all  the  news  I  hear  of  you  is,  that  you  sally  out  in  visits 
among  the  neighbors,  and  sometimes  make  a  migration  from 
the  blue  bed  to  the  brown.  I  could  from  my  heart  wish  that  you 
and  she  (Mrs.  Hodson),  and  Lissoy  and  Ballymahon,  and  all  of 
you,  would  fairly  make  a  migration  into  Middlesex;  though, 
upon  second  thoughts,  this  might  be  attended  with  a  few  incon- 
veniences.    Therefore,  as  the  mountain  will  not  come  to  Moham- 


96  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


med,  why  Mohammed  shall  go  the  mountain ;  or,  to  speak  plain 
English,  as  you  cannot  conveniently  pay  me  a  visit,  if  next  sum- 
mer I  can  contrive  to  be  absent  six  weeks  from  London,  I  shall 
spend  three  of  them  among  my  friends  in  Ireland.  But  first, 
believe  me,  my  design  is  purely  to  visit,  and  neither  to  cut  a 
figure  nor  levy  contributions  ;  neither  to  excite  envy  nor  solicit 
favor ;  in  fact,  my  circumstances  are  adapted  to  neither.  I  am 
too  poor  to  be  gazed  at,  and  too  rich  to  need  assistance. 


HACKNEY  AUTHORSHIP.  37 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Hackney  authorship. — Thoughts  of  literary  suicide. — Return  to  Peckham. — 
Oriental  projects. — Literary  enterprise  to  raise  funds. — Letter  to  Edward 
Wells — to  Robert  B'ryanton. — Death  of  uncle  Contarine. — Letter  to  cousin 
Jane. 

For  some  time  Groldsmith  continued  to  write  miscellaneously  for 
reviews  and  other  periodical  publications,  but  without  making 
any  decided  hit,  to  use  a  technical  term.  Indeed  as  yet  he  ap- 
peared destitute  of  the  strong  excitement  of  literary  ambition, 
and  wrote  only  on  the  spur  of  necessity  and  at  the  urgent  impor-  v 
tunity  of  his  bookseller.  His  indolent  and  truant  disposition, 
ever  averse  from  labor  and  delighting  in  holiday,  had  to  be 
scourged  up  to  its  task ;  still  it  was  this  very  truant  disposition 
which  threw  an  unconscious  charm  over  every  thing  he  wrote ; 
bringing  with  it  honeyed  thoughts  and  pictured  images  which 
had  sprung  up  in  his  mind  in  the  sunny  hours  of  idleness: 
these  effusions,  dashed  off  on  compulsion  in  the  exigency  of  the 
moment,  were  published  anonymously  ;  so  that  they  made  no  col- 
lective impression  on  the  public,  and  reflected  no  fame  on  the 
name  of  their  author. 

In  an  essay  published  some  time  subsequently  in  the  "  Bee," 
Goldsmith  adverts  in  his  own  humorous  way,  to  his  impatience 
at  the  tardiness  with  which  his  desultory  and  unacknowledged 

5 


98  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


essays  crept  into  notice.  "  I  was  once  induced,"  says  he,  "  to 
show  my  indignation  against  the  public  by  discontinuing  my  ef- 
forts to  please ;  and  was  bravely  resolved,  like  Raleigh,  to  vex 
them  by  burning  my  manuscripts  in  a  passion.  Upon  reflection, 
however,  I  considered  what  set  or  body  of  people  would  be  dis- 
pleased at  my  rashness.  The  sun,  after  so  sad  an  accident, 
might  shine  next  morning  as  bright  as  usual ;  men  might  laugh 
and  sing  the  next  day,  and  transact  business  as  before ;  and  not 
a  single  creature  feel  any  regret  but  myself.  Instead  of  having 
Apollo  in  mourning  or  the  Muses  in  a  fit  of  the  spleen  ;  instead 
of  having  the  learned  world  apostrophizing  at  my  untimely 
decease ;  perhaps  all  Grub-street  might  laugh  at  my  fate,  and 
self-approving  dignit}'  be  unable  to  shield  me  from  ridicule." 

Circumstances  occurred  about  this  time  to  give  a  new  direc- 
tion to  Goldsmith's  hopes  and  schemes.  Having  resumed  for  a 
brief  period  the  superintendence  of  the  Peckham  school  during 
a  fit  of  illness  of  Dr.  Milner,  that  gentleman,  in  requital  for  his 
timely  services,  promised  to  use  his  influence  with  a  friend,  an 
East  India  director,  to  procure  him  a  medical  appointment  in 
India. 

There  was  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  influence  of  Dr. 
Milner  would  be  effectual ;  but  how  was  Goldsmith  to  find  the 
ways  and  means  of  fitting  himself  out  for  a  voyage  to  the  Indies? 
In  this  emergency  he  was  driven  to  a  more  extended  exercise  of 
the  pen  than  he  had  yet  attempted.  His  skirmishing  among 
books  as  a  reviewer,  and  his  disputatious  ramble  among  the 
schools  and  universities  and  literati  of  the  Continent,  had  filled 
his  mind  with  facts  and  observations  which  he  now  set  about 
digesting  into  a  treatise  of  some  magnitude,  to  be  entitled  "  An 
Inquiry  into  the  Present  State  of  Polite  Learning  in  Europe." 


LETTER  TO  MILLS.  99 


As  the  work  grew  on  his  hands  his  sanguine  temper  ran  ahead  of 
his  labors.  Feeling  secure  of  success  in  England,  he  was 
anxious  to  forestall  the  piracy  of  the  Irish  press ;  for  as  yet,  the 
union  not  having  taken  place,  the  English  law  of  copyright  did 
not  extend  to  the  other  side  of  the  Irish  channel.  He  wrote, 
therefore,  to  his  friends  in  Ireland,  urging  them  to  circulate  his 
proposals  for  his  contemplated  work,  and  obtain  subscriptions 
payable  in  advance ;  the  money  to  be  transmitted  to  a  Mr.  Brad- 
ley, an  eminent  bookseller  in  Dublin,  who  would  give  a  receipt 
for  it  and  be  accountable  for  the  delivery  of  the  books.  The 
letters  written  by  him  on  this  occasion  are  worthy  of  copious  cita- 
tion as  being  full  of  character  and  interest.  One  was  to  his  rela- 
tive and  college  intimate,  Edward  Wells,  who  had  studied  for  the 
bar,  but  was  now  living  at  ease  on  his  estate  at  Roscommon. 
"  You  have  quitted,"  writes  Goldsmith,  "  the  plan  of  life  which 
you  once  intended  to  pursue,  and  given  up  ambition  for  domestic 
tranquillity.  I  cannot  avoid  feeling  some  regret  that  one  of  my 
few  friends  has  declined  a  pursuit  in  which  he  had  every  reason 
to  expect  success.  I  have  often  let  my  fancy  loose  when  you 
were  the  subject,  and  have  imagined  you  gracing  the  bench,  or 
thundering  at  the  bar:  while  I  have  taken  no  small  pride  to 
myself,  and  whispered  to  all  that  I  could  come  near,  that  this 
was  my  cousin.  Instead  of  this,  it  seems,  you  are  merely  con- 
tented to  be  a  happy  man ;  to  be  esteemed  by  your  acquaint- 
ances ;  to  cultivate  your  paternal  acres ;  to  take  unmolested  a 
nap  under  one  of  your  own  hawthorns,  or  in  Mrs.  Mills's  bed- 
chamber, which,  even  a  poet  must  confess,  is  rather  the  more 
comfortable  place  of  the  two.  But,  however  your  resolutions 
may  be  altered  with  regard  to  your  situation  in  life,  I  persuade 
myself  they  are  unalterable  with  respect  to  your  friends  in  it.     I 


100  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


cannot  think  the  world  has  taken  such  entire  possession  of  that 
heart  (once  so  susceptible  of  friendship)  as  not  to  have  left  a 
corner  there  for  a  friend  or  two,  but  I  flatter  myself  that  even  I 
have  a  place  among  the  number.  This  I  have  a  claim  to  from 
the  similitude  of  our  dispositions ;  or  setting  that  aside,  I  can 
demand  it  as  a  right  by  the  most  equitable  law  of  nature ;  I 
mean  that  of  retaliation  ;  for  indeed  you  have  more  than  your 
share  in  mine.  I  am  a  man  of  few  professions  ;  and  yet  at  this 
very  instant  I  cannot  avoid  the  painful  apprehension  that  my 
present  professions  (which  speak  not  half  my  feelings)  should  be 
considered  only  as  a  pretext  to  cover  a  request,  as  I  have  a  re- 
quest to  make.  No,  my  dear  Ned,  I  know  you  are  too  generous 
to  think  so,  and  you  know  me  too  proud  to  stoop  to  unnecessary 
insincerity — I  have  a  request,  it  is  true,  to  make ;  but  as  I  know 
to  whom  I  am  a  petitioner,  I  make  it  without  diffidence  or  con- 
fusion. It  is  in  short  this,  I  am  going  to  publish  a  book  in 
London,"  &c.  The  residue  of  the  letter  specifies  the  nature  of 
the  request,  which  was  merely  to  aid  in  circulating  his  proposals 
and  obtaining  subscriptions.  The  letter  of  the  poor  author, 
however,  was  unattended  to  and  unacknowledged  by  the  prospe- 
rous Mr.  "Wells,  of  Roscommon,  though  in  after  years  he  was 
proud  to  claim  relationship  to  Dr.  Goldsmith,  when  he  had  risen 
to  celebrity. 

Another  of  Goldsmith's  letters  was  to  Robert  Bryanton,  with 
whom  he  had  long  ceased  to  be  in  correspondence.  "  I  believe," 
writes  he,  "  that  they  who  are  drunk,  or  out  of  their  wits,  fancy 
every  body  else  in  the  same  condition.  Mine  is  a  friendship 
that  neither  distance  nor  time  can  efface,  which  is  probably  the 
reason  that,  for  the  soul  of  me,  I  can't  avoid  thinking  yours  of 
the  same  complexion  ;  and  yet  I  have  many  reasons  for  being  of 


LETTER  TO  BRYANTON.  101 


a  contrary  opinion,  else  why,  in  so  long  an  absence,  was  I  never 
made  a  partner  in  your  concerns  ?  To  hear  of  your  success 
would  have  given  me  the  utmost  pleasure ;  and  a  communication 
of  your  very  disappointments  would  divide  the  uneasiness,  I 
too  frequently  feel  for  my  own.  Indeed,  my  dear  Bob,  you  don't 
conceive  how  unkindly  you  have  treated  one  whose  circumstances 
afford  him  few  prospects  of  pleasure,  except  those  reflected  from 
the  happiness  of  his  friends.  However,  since  you  have  not  let 
me  hear  from  you,  I  have  in  some  measure  disappointed  your 
neglect  by  frequently  thinking  of  you.  Every  day  or  so  I  re- 
member the  calm  anecdotes  of  your  life,  from  the  fireside  to  the 
easy  chair  ;  recall  the  various  adventures  that  first  cemented  our 
friendship  ;  the  school,  the  college,'or  the  tavern  ;  preside  in  fancy 
over  your  cards  ;  and  am  displeased  at  your  bad  play  when  the 
rubber  goes  against  you,  though  not  with  all  that  agony  of  soul 
as  when  I  was  once  your  partner.  Is  it  not  strange  that  two  of 
such  like  affections  should  be  so  much  separated,  and  so  differ- 
ently employed  as  we  are  ?  You  seem  placed  at  the  centre  of 
fortune's  wheel,  and,  let  it  revolve  ever  so  fast,  are  insensible  of 
the  motion.  I  seem  to  have  been  tied  to  the  circumference,  and 
whirled  disagreeably  round,  as  if  on  a  whirligig." 

He  then  runs  into  a  whimsical  and  extravagant  tirade 
about  his  future  prospects.  The  wonderful  career  of  fame  and 
fortune  that  awaits  him,  and  after  indulging  in  all  kinds  of  hu- 
morous gasconades,  concludes  :  "  Let  me,  then,  stop  my  fancy  to 
take  a  view  of  my  future  self, — and,  as  the  boys  say,  light  down 
to  see  myself  on  horseback.  Well,  now  that  I  am  down,  where 
the  d — 1  is  I?  Oh  gods  !  gods  !  here  in  a  garret,  writing  for 
bread,  and  expecting  to  be  dunned  for  a  milk  score  !" 

He  would,  on  this  occasion,  have  doubtless  written  to  his  un- 


102  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


cle  Contarine,  but  that  generous  friend  was  sunk  into  a  helpless 
hopeless  state  from  which  death  soon  released  him. 

Cut  off  thus  from  the  kind  co-operation  of  his  uncle,  he 
addresses  a  letter  to  his  daughter  Jane,  the  companion  of  his 
school-boy  and  happy  days,  now  the  wife  of  Mr.  Lawder.  The 
object  was  to  secure  her  interest  with  her  husband  in  promoting 
the  circulation  of  his  proposals.     The  letter  is  full  of  character. 

"  If  you  should  ask,"  he  begins,  "  why,  in  an  interval  of  so 
many  years,  you  never  heard  from  me,  permit  me,  madam,  to  ask 
the  same  question.  I  have  the  best  excuse  in  recrimination.  I 
wrote  to  Kilmore  from  Leyden  in  Holland,  from  Louvain  in 
Flanders,  and  Rouen  in  France,  but  received  no  answer.  To 
what  could  I  attribute  this  silence  but  to  displeasure  or  forget- 
fulness  ?  Whether  I  was  right  in  my  conjecture  I  do  not  pre- 
tend to  determine  ;  but  this  I  must  ingenuously  own,  that  I  have 
a  thousand  times  in  my  turn  endeavored  to  forget  them,  whom  I 
could  not  but  look  upon  as  forgetting  rue.  I  have  attempted  to 
blot  their  names  from  my  memory,  and,  I  confess  it,  spent  whole 
days  in  eflForts  to  tear  their  image  from  my  heart.  Could  I  have 
succeeded,  you  had  not  now  been  troubled  with  this  renewal  of  a 
discontinued  correspondence ;  but,  as  every  effort  the  restless 
make  to  procure  sleep  serves  but  to  keep  them  waking,  all  my 
attempts  contributed  to  impress  what  I  would  forget  deeper  on 
my  imagination.  But  this  subject  I  would  willingly  turn  from, 
and  yet,  '  for  the  soul  of  me,'  I  can't  till  I  have  said  all  '  I  was, 
madam,  when  I  discontinued  writing  to  Kilmore,  in  such  circum- 
stances, that  all  my  endeavors  to  continue  your  regards  might  be 
attributed  to  wrong  motives.  My  letters  might  be  looked  upon 
as  the  petitions  of  a  beggar,  and  not  the  offerings  of  a  friend  ; 
while  all  my  professions,  instead  of  being  considered  as  the  re- 


LETTER  TO  COUSIN  JANE.  103 


suit  of  disinterested  esteem,  might  be  ascribed  to  venal  insin- 
cerity. I  believe,  indeed,  you  had  too  much  generosity  to  place 
them  in  such  a  light,  but  I  could  not  bear  even  the  shadow  of 
such  a  suspicion.  The  most  delicate  friendships  are  always  most 
sensible  of  the  slightest  invasion,  and  the  strongest  jealousy  is 
ever  attendant  on  the  warmest  regard.  I  could  not — I  own  I 
could  not — continue  a  correspondence  in  which  every  acknow- 
ledgment for  past  favors  might  be  considered  as  an  indirect  re- 
quest for  future  ones  ;  and  where  it  might  be  thought  I  gave  my 
heart  from  a  motive  of  gratitude  alone,  when  I  was  conscious  of 
having  bestowed  it  on  much  more  disinterested  principles.  It  is 
true,  this  conduct  might  have  been  simple  enough  ;  but  yourself 
must  confess  it  was  in  character.  Those  who  know  me  at  all, 
know  that  I  have  always  been  actuated  by  different  principles 
from  the  rest  of  mankind  :  and  while  none  regarded  the  interest 
of  his  friend  more,  no  man  on  earth  regarded  his  own  less.  I 
have  often  affected  bluntness  to  avoid  the  imputation  of  flattery  ; 
have  frequently  seemed  to  overlook  those  merits  too  obvious  to 
escape  notice,  and  pretended  disregard  to  those  instances  of  good 
nature  and  good  sense,  which  I  could  not  fail  tacitly  to  applaud ; 
and  all  this  lest  I  should  be  ranked  among  the  grinning  tribe, 
who  say  '  very  true '  to  all  that  is  said  ;  who  fill  a  vacant  chair  at 
a  tea-table  ;  whose  narrow  souls  never  moved  in  a  wider  circle 
than  the  circumference  of  a  guinea  ;  and  who  had  rather  be  reck- 
oning the  money  in  your  pocket  than  the  virtue  in  your  breast. 
All  this,  I  say,  I  have  done,  and  a  thousand  other  very  silly, 
though  very  disinterested,  things  in  my  time  ;  and  for  all  which 
no  soul  cares  a  farthing  about  me.  *  *  *  *  Is  it 
to  be  wondered  that  he  should  once  in  his  life  forget  you,  who 
has  been  all  his  life  forgetting  himself  1     However,  it  is  probable 


104  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


you  may  one  of  these  days  see  me  turned  into  a  perfect  hunks, 
and  as  dark  and  intricate  as  a  mouse-hole.  I  have  already  given 
my  landlady  orders  for  an  entire  reform  in  the  state  of  my  finan- 
ces. I  declaim  against  hot  suppers,  drink  less  sugar  in  my  tea, 
and  check  my  grate  with  brickbats.  Instead  of  hanging  my 
room  with  pictures,  I  intend  to  adorn  it  with  maxims  of  fru 
gality.  Those  will  make  pretty  furniture  enough,  and  won't  be 
a  bit  too  expensive  ;  for  I  will  draw  them  all  out  with  my  own 
hands,  and  my  landlady's  daughter  shall  frame  them  with  the 
parings  of  my  black  waistcoat.  Each  maxim  is  to  be  inscribed 
on  a  sheet  of  clean  paper,  and  wrote  with  my  best  pen  ;  of  which 
the  following  will  serve  as  a  specimen.  Ix)ok  sharp  :  Mi^id  tlw 
nrnain  chance :  Money  is  money  noiv :  If  you  have  a  thousatul 
pounds  you  can  put  your  hands  by  your  sides,  and  say  you  are 
worth  a  tliousand  pounds  every  day  of  the  year :  Take  a  farthing 
from  a  hundred  and  it  will  he  a  hundred  no  longer.  Thus, 
which  way  soever  I  turn  my  eyes,  they  are  sure  to  meet  one  of 
those  friendly  monitors ;  and  as  we  are  told  of  an  actor  who 
hung  his  room  round  with  looking-glass  to  correct  the  defects  of 
his  person,  my  apartment  shall  be  furnished  in  a  peculiar  man- 
ner, to  correct  the  errors  of  my  mind.  Faith  !  madam,  I  heartily 
wi^h  to  be  rich,  if  it  were  only  for  this  reason,  to  say  without  a 
blush  how  much  I  esteem  you.  But,  alas  !  I  have  many  a  fatigue 
to  encounter  before  that  happy  time  comes,  when  your  poor  old 
simple  friend  may  again  give  a  loose  to  the  luxuriance  of  his  na- 
ture ;  sitting  by  Kilraore  fireside,  recount  the  various  adventures 
of  a  hard-fought  life  ;  laugh  over  the  follies  of  the  day  ,  join  his 
flute  to  your  harpsichord ;  and  forget  that  ever  he  starved  in 
those  streets  where  Butler  and  Otway  starved  before  him.  And 
now  I  mention  those  great  names — my  Uncle  !  he  is  no  more 


LETTER  TO  COUSIN  JANE.  105 


that  soul  of  fire  as  when  I  once  knew  him.  Newton  and  Swift 
grew  dim  with  age  as  well  as  he.  But  what  shall  I  say  ?  His 
mind  was  too  active  an  inhabitant  not  to  disorder  the  feeble  man- 
sion of  its  abode :  for  the  richest  jewels  soonest  wear  their  set- 
tings. Yet  who  but  the  fool  would  lament  his  condition  !  He 
now  forgets  the  calamities  of  life.  Perhaps  indulgent  Heaven 
has  given  him  a  foretaste  of  that  tranquillity  here,  which  he  so 
well  deserves  hereafter.  But  I  must  come  to  business  ;  for  bu- 
siness, as  one  of  my  maxims  tells  me,  must  be  minded  or  lost. 
I  am  going  to  publish  in  London  a  book  entitled  Th£.  Present 
State  of  Taste  and  Litei'ature  in  Europe.  The  booksellers  in 
Ireland  republish  every  performance  there  without  making  the 
author  any  consideration.  I  would,  in  this  respect,  disappoint 
their  avarice,  and  have  all  the  profits  of  my  labor  to  myself  I 
must,  therefore,  request  Mr.  Lawder  to  circulate  among  his 
friends  and  acquaintances  a  hundred  of  my  proposals,  which  I 
have  given  the  bookseller,  Mr.  Bradley,  in  Dame-street,  directions 
to  send  to  him.  If,  in  pursuance  of  such  circulation,  he  should 
receive  any  subscriptions,  I  entreat,  when  collected,  they  may  be 
sent  to  Mr.  Bradley,  as  aferesaid,  who  will  give  a  receipt,  and  be 
accountable  for  the.work,  or  a  return  of  the  subscription.  If 
this  request  (which,  if  it  be  complied  with,  will  in  some  measure 
be  an  encouragement  to  a  man  of  learning)  should  be  disagreea- 
ble or  troublesome,  I  would  not  press  it ;  for  I  would  be  the 
last  man  on  earth  to  have  my  labors  go  a-begging  ;  but  if  I  know 
Mr.  Lawder  (and  sure  I  ought  to  know  him),  he  will  accept  the 
employment  with  pleasure.  All  I  can  say — if  he  writes  a  book, 
I  will  get  him  two  hundred  subscribers,  and  those  of  the  best 
wits  in  Europe.  Whether  this  request  is  complied  with  or  not, 
I  shall  not  be  uneasy  ;  but  there  is  one  petition  I  must  make  to 

5* 


106  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


him  and  to  you,  which  I  solicit  with  the  warmest  ardor,  and  in 
which  I  cannot  bear  a  refusal.  I  mean,  dear  madam,  that  I 
may  be  allowed  to  subscribe  myself,  your  ever  affectionate  and 
obliged  kinsman,  Oliver  Goldsmith.  Now  see  how  I  blot  and 
blunder,  when  I  am  asking  a  favor." 


ORIENTAL  APPOINTMENT.  107 


CHAPTER  X. 

Oriental  appointment — and  disappointment. — Examination  at  the  College  of 
Surgeons. — How  to  procure  a  suit  of  clothes. — Fresh  disappointment. — A 
tale  of  distress. — The  suit  of  clothes  in  pawn — Punishment  for  doing  an 
act  of  charity. — Gayeties  of  Green  Arbor  Court. — Letter  to  his  brother. — 
Life  of  Voltaire. — Scroggins,  an  attempt  at  mock  heroic  poetry. 

While  Goldsmith  was  yet  laboring  at  his  treatise,  the  promise 
made  him  by  Dr.  Milner  was  carried  into  effect,  and  he  was 
actually  appointed  physician  and  surgeon  to  one  of  the  factories 
on  the  coast  of  Coromandel.  His  imagination  was  immediately 
on  fire  with  visions  of  Oriental  wealth  and  magnificence.  It  is 
true  the  salary  did  not  exceed  one  hundred  pounds,  but  then,  as 
appointed  physician,  he  would  have  the  exclusive  practice  of  the 
place,  amounting  to  one  thousand  pounds  per  annum  ;  with  ad- 
vantages to  be  derived  from  trade  and  from  the  high  interest  of 
money — twenty  per  cent. ;  in  a  word,  for  once  in  his  life,  the  road 
to  fortune  lay  broad  and  straight  before  him. 

Hitherto,  in  his  correspondence  with  his  friends,  he  had  said 
nothing  of  his  India  scheme ;  but  now  he  imparted  to  them  his 
brilliant  prospects,  urging  the  importance  of  their  circulating  his 
proposals  and  obtaining  him  subscriptions  and  advances  on  bis 
forthcoming  work,  to  furnish  funds  for  his  outfit. 

In  the  meantime  he  had  to  task  that  poor  drudge,  his  muse, 


108  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


for  present  exigencies.  Ten  pounds  were  demanded  for  his  ap- 
pointment-warrant. Other  expenses  pressed  hard  upon  him. 
Fortunately,  though  as  yet  unknown  to  fame,  his  literary  capa- 
bility was  known  to  "  the  trade,"  and  the  coinage  of  his  brain 
passed  current  in  Grub-street.  Archibald  Hamilton,  proprietor 
of  the  "  Critical  Review,"  the  rival  to  that  of  Griffiths,  readily 
made  him  a  small  advance  on  receiving  three  articles  for  his 
periodical.  His  purse  thus  slenderly  replenished.  Goldsmith  paid 
for  his  warrant ;  wiped  off  the  score  of  his  milkmaid  ;  abandoned 
his  garret,  and  moved  into  a  shabby  first  floor  in  a  forlorn  court 
near  the  Old  Bailey ;  there  to  await  the  time  for  his  migration  to 
the  magnificent  coast  of  Coromandel. 

Alas !  poor  Goldsmith !  ever  doomed  to  disappointment. 
Early  in  the  gloomy  month  of  November,  that  month  of  fog  and 
despondency  in  London,  he  learnt  the  shipwreck  of  his  hope. 
The  great  Coromandel  enterprise  fell  through ;  or  rather  the 
V  post  promised  to  him,  was  transferred  to  some  other  candidate. 
The  cause  of  this  disappointment  it  is  now  impossible  to  ascer- 
tain. The  death  of  his  quasi  patron.  Dr.  Milner,  which  happened 
about  this  time,  may  have  had  some  effect  in  producing  it ;  or 
there  may  have  been  some  heedlessness  and  blundering  on  his  own 
part ;  or  some  obstacle  arising  from  his  insuperable  indigence ; 
whatever  may  have  been  the  cause,  he  never  mentioned  it,  which 
gives  some  ground  to  surmise  that  he  himself  was  to  blame.  His 
friends  learnt  with  surprise  that  he  had  suddenly  relinquished 
his  appointment  to  India,  about  which  he  had  raised  such  san- 
guine expectations  :  some  accused  him  of  fickleness  and  caprice  ; 
others  supposed  him  unwilling  to  tear  himself  from  the  growing 
fascinations  of  the  literary  society  of  London. 

In  the  meantime  cut  down  in  his  hopes,  and  humiliated  in  his 


FIRST  DISAPPOINTMENT.  109 


pride  by  the  failure  of  his  Coromandel  scheme,  he  sought,  with- 
out consulting  his  friends,  to  be  examined  at  the  College  of  Physi- 
cians for  the  humble  situation  of  hospital  mate.  Even  here 
poverty  stood  in  his  way.  It  was  necessary  to  appear  in  a  decent 
garb  before  the  examining  committee ;  but  how  was  he  to  do  so  ? 
He  was  literally  out  at  elbows  as  well  as  out  of  cash.  Here 
again  the  muse,  so  often  jilted  and  neglected  by  him,  came  to 
his  aid.  In  consideration  of  four  articles  furnished  to  the 
"  Monthly  Review,"  Griffiths,  his  old  task-master,  was  to  become 
his  security  to  the  tailor  for  a  suit  of  clothes.  Goldsmith  said 
he  wanted  them  but  for  a  single  occasion,  on  which  depended  his 
appointment  to  a  situation  in  the  army  ;  as  soon  as  that  tempo- 
rary purpose  was  served  they  would  either  be  returned  or  paid 
for.  The  books  to  be  reviewed  were  accordingly  lent  to  him ; 
the  muse  was  again  set  to  her  compulsory  drudgery ;  the  articles 
were  scribbled  off  and  sent  to  the  bookseller,  and  the  clothes 
came  in  due  time  from  the  tailor. 

From  the  records  of  the  College  of  Surgeons,  it  appears  that 
Goldsmith  underwent  his  examination  at  Surgeons'  Hall,  on  the 
21st  of  December,  1758.  Either  from  a  confusion  of  mind  inci- 
dent to  sensitive  and  imaginative  persons  on  such  occasions,  or 
from  a  real  want  of  surgical  science,  which  last  is  extremely  pro- 
bable, he  failed  in  his  examination,  and  was  rejected  as  unquali- 
fied. The  effect  of  such  a  rejection  was  to  disqualify  him  for 
every  branch  of  public  service,  though  he  might  have  claimed  a 
re-examination,  after  the  interval  of  a  few  months  devoted  to 
further  study.  Such  a  re-examination  he  never  attempted,  nor 
did  he  ever  communicate  his  discomfiture  to  any  of  his  friends. 

On  Christmas  Day,  but  four  days  after  his  rejection  by  the 
College  of  Surgeons,  while  he  was  suffering  under  the  mortification 


110  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


of  defeat  and  disappointment,  and  hard  pressed  for  means  of 
subsistence,  he  was  surprised  by  the  entrance  into  his  room  of  the 
poor  woman  of  whom  he  hired  his  wretched  apartment,  and  to 
whom  he  owed  some  small  arrears  of  rent.  She  had  a  piteous  tale 
of  distress,  and  was  clamorous  in  her  afflictions.  Her  husband 
had  been  arrested  in  the  night  for  debt,  and  thrown  into  prison. 
This  was  too  much  for  the  quick  feelings  of  Goldsmith  ;  he  was 
ready  at  any  time  to  help  the  distressed,  but  in  this  instance  he 
was  himself  in  some  measure  a  cause  of  the  distress.  What  was 
to  be  done  ?  He  had  no  money  it  is  true  ;  but  there  hung  the 
new  suit  of  clothes  in  which  he  had  stood  his  unlucky  examina- 
tion at  Surgeons'  Hall.  Without  giving  himself  time  for  reflec- 
tion, he  sent  it  ofi"  to  the  pawnbroker's,  and  raised  thereon  a  suf- 
ficient sum  to  pay  off  his  own  debt,  and  to  release  his  landlord 
from  prison. 

Under  the  same  pressure  of  penury  and  despondency,  he 
Dorrowed  from  a  neighbor  a  pittance  to  relieve  his  immediate 
wants,  leaving  as  a  security  the  books  which  he  had  recently 
reviewed.  In  the  midst  of  these  straits  and  harassments,  he 
received  a  letter  from  Griffiths,  demanding  in  peremptory  terms, 
the  return  of  the  clothes  and  books,  or  immediate  payment  for 
the  same.  It  appears  that  he  had  discovered  the  identical  suit 
at  the  pawnbroker's.  The  reply  of  Goldsmith  is  not  known  ;  it 
was  out  of  his  power  to  furnish  either  the  clothes  or  the  money ; 
but  he  probably  offered  once  more  to  make  the  muse  stand  his 
bail.  His  reply  only  increased  the  ire  of  the  wealth}'^  man  of 
trade,  and  drew  from  him  another  letter  still  more  harsh  than 
the  first ;  using  the  epithets  of  knave  and  sharper,  and  contain- 
ing threats  of  prosecution  and  a  prison. 

The  following  letter  from  poor  Goldsmith  gives   the  most 


PUNISHMENT  FOR   AN   ACTt»s;^€HARITY.  Ill 


toucliing  picture  of  an  inconsiderate  but  sensitive  man,  harassed 
by  care,  stung  by  humiliations,  and  driven  almost  to  despondency. 

Sir, — "  I  know  of  no  misery  but  a  jail  to  which  my  own  impru- 
dences and  your  letter  seem  to  point.  I  have  seen  it  inevitable 
these  three  or  four  weeks,  and,  by  heavens  !  request  it  as  a  favor, 
— as  a  favor  that  may  prevent  something  more  fatal.  I  have 
been  some  years  struggling  with  a  wretched  being — with  all  that 
contempt  that  indigence  brings  with  it — with  all  those  passions 
which  make  contempt  insupportable.  What,  then,  has  a  jail  that 
is  formidable  ?  I  shall  at  least  have  the  society  of  wretches,  and 
such  is  to  me  true  society.  I  tell  you,  again  and  again,  that  I  am 
neither  able  nor  willing  to  pay  you  a  farthing,  but  I  will  be  punc- 
tual to  any  appointment  you  or  the  tailor  shall  make  ;  thus  far, 
at  least,  I  do  not  act  the  sharper,  since,  unable  to  pay  my  own 
debts  one  way,  I  would  generally  give  some  security  another. 
No,  sir  ;  had  I  been  a  sharper — had  I  been  possessed  of  less 
good-nature  and  native  generosity,  I  might  surely  now  have  been 
in  better  circumstances. 

"  I  am  guilty,  I  own,  of  meannesses  which  poverty  unavoid- 
ably brings  with  it :  my  reflections  are  filled  with  repentance  for 
my  imprudence,  but  not  with  any  remorse  for  being  a  villain  : 
that  may  be  a  character  you  unjustly  charge  me  with.  Your 
books,  I  can  assure  you,  are  neither  pawned  nor  sold,  but  in  the 
custody  of  a  friend,  from  whom  my  necessities  obliged  me  to 
borrow  some  money :  whatever  becomes  of  my  person,  you  shall 
have  them  in  a  month.  It  is  very  possible  both  the  reports  you 
have  heard  and  your  own  suggestions  may  have  brought  you 
false  information  with  respect  to  my  character  ;  it  is  very  possi- 
ble that  the  man  whom  you  now  regard  with  detestation  may 


112  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


inwardly  burn  with  grateful  resentment.  It  is  very  possible 
that,  upon  a  second  perusal  of  the  letter  I  sent  you,  you  may  see 
the  workings  of  a  mind  strongly  agitated  with  gratitude  and  jea- 
lousy. If  such  circumstances  should  appear,  at  least  spare  in- 
vective till  my  book  with  Mr.  Dodsley  shall  be  published,  and 
then,  perhaps,  you  may  see  the  bright  side  of  a  mind,  when  my 
professions  shall  not  appear  the  dictates  of  necessity,  but  of 
choice. 

"  You  seem  to  think  Dr.  Milner  knew  me  not.  Perhaps  so  ; 
but  he  was  a  man  I  shall  ever  honor  ;  but  I  have  friendships 
only  with  the  dead  !  I  ask  pardon  for  taking  up  so  much  time ; 
nor  shall  I  add  to  it  by  any  other  professions  than  that  I  am, 
sir,  your  humble  servant, 

"  Oliver  Goldsmith, 

"  P.  S. — I  shall  expect  impatiently  the  result  of  your  reso- 
lutions." 

The  dispute  between  the  poet  and  the  publisher  was  afterward 
imperfectly  adjusted,  and  it  would  appear  that  the  clothes  were 
paid  for  by  a  short  compilation  advertised  by  Griffiths  in  the 
course  of  the  following  month  ;  but  the  parties  were  never  really 
friends  afterward,  and  the  writings  of  Goldsmith  were  harshly 
and  unjustly  treated  in  the  Monthly  Review. 

We  have  given  the  preceding  anecdote  in  detail,  as  furnishing 
one  of  the  many  instances  in  which  Goldsmith's  prompt  and  bene- 
volent impulses  outran  all  prudent  forecast,  and  involved  him 
in  difficulties  and  disgraces,  which  a  more  selfish  man  would  have 
avoided.  The  pawning  of  the  clothes,  charged  upon  him  as  a 
crime  by  the  grinding  bookseller,  and  apparently  admitted  by 
him  as  one  of  "  the  meannesses  which  poverty  unavoidably  brings 


GREEN  ARBOR  COURT.  113 


with  it,"  resulted,  as  we  have  shown,  from  a  tenderness  of  heart 
and  generosity  of  hand,  in  which  another  man  would  have  glo- 
ried ;  but  these  were  such  natural  elements  with  him,  that  he  was 
unconscious  of  their  merit.  It  is  a  pity  that  wealth  does  not 
oftener  bring  such  '  meannesses '  in  its  train. 

And  now  let  us  be  indulged  in  a  few  particulars  about  these 
lodgings  in  which  Goldsmith  was  guilty  of  this  thoughtless  act 
of  benevolence.  They  were  in  a  very  shabby  house,  No.  12 
Green  Arbor  Court,  between  the  Old  Bailey  and  Fleet  Market. 
An  old  woman  was  still  living  in  1820  who  was  a  relative  of  the 
identical  landlady  whom  Goldsmith  relieved  by  the  money  re- 
ceived from  the  pawnbroker.  She  was  a  child  about  seven  years 
of  age  at  the  time  that  the  poet  rented  his  apartment  of  her 
relative,  and  used  frequently  to  be  at  the  house  in  Green  Arbor 
Court.  She  was  drawn  there,  in  a  great  measure,  by  the  good- 
humored  kindness  of  Goldsmith,  who  was  always  exceedingly 
fond  of  the  society  of  children.  He  used  to  assemble  those  of  U' 
the  family  in  his  room,  give  them  cakes  and  sweetmeats,  and  set 
them  dancing  to  the  sound  of  his  flute.  He  was  very  friendly 
to  those  around  him,  and  cultivated  a  kind  of  intimacy  with  a 
watchmaker  in  the  Court,  who  possessed  much  native  wit  and 
humor.  He  passed  most  of  the  day,  however,  in  his  room,  and 
only  went  out  in  the  evenings.  His  days  were  no  doubt  devoted 
to  the  drudgery  of  the  pen,  and  it  would  appear  that  he  occa- 
sionally found  the  booksellers  urgent  task-masters.  On  one 
occasion  a  visitor  was  shown  up  to  his  room,  and  immediately 
their  voices  were  heard  in  high  altercation,  and  the  key  was 
turned  within  the  lock.  The  landlady,  at  first,  was  disposed  to 
go  to  the  assistance  of  her  lodger  ;  but  a  calm  succeeding,  she 
forbore  to  interfere. 


i 


114  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


Late  in  the  evening  the  door  was  unlocked  ;  a  supper  ordered 
by  the  visitor  from  a  neighboring  tavern,  and  Goldsmith  and  his 
intrusive  guest  finished  the  evening  in  great  good-humor.  It  was 
probably  his  old  task-master  G-riffiths,  whose  press  might  have 
been  waiting,  and  who  found  no  other  mode  of  getting  a  stipu- 
lated task  from  Goldsmith  than  by  locking  him  in,  and  staying 
by  him  until  it  was  finished. 

But  we  have  a  more  particular  account  of  these  lodgings  in 
Green  Arbor  Court  from  the  Rev.  Thomas  Percy,  afterward 
Bishop  of  Dromore,  and  celebrated  for  his  relics  of  ancient  poetry, 
his  beautiful  ballads,  and  other  works.  During  an  occasional 
visit  to  London,  he  was  introduced  to  Goldsmith  by  Grainger, 
and  ever  after  continued  one  of  his  most  steadfast  and  valued 
friends.  The  following  is  his  description  of  the  poet's  squalid 
apartment :  "  I  called  on  Goldsmith  at  his  lodgings  in  March, 
1 759,  and  found  him  writing  his  '  Inquiry,'  in  a  miserable,  dirty- 
looking  room,  in  which  there  was  but  one  chair  ;  and  when,  from 
civility,  he  resigned  it  to  me,  he  himself  was  obliged  to  sit  in 
the  window.  While  we  were  conversing  together  some  one  tapped 
gently  at  the  door,  and,  being  desired  to  come  in,  a  poor,  ragged 
little  girl,  of  a  very  becoming  demeanor,  entered  the  room,  and, 
dropping  a  courtesy,  said,  '  My  mamma  sends  her  compliments, 
and  begs  the  favor  of  you  to  lend  her  a  chamber-pot  full  of 
coals.' " 

We  are  reminded  in  this  anecdote  of  Goldsmith's  picture  of 
the  lodgings  of  Beau  Tibbs,  and  of  the  peep  into  the  secrets  of  a 
make-shift  establishment  given  to  a  visitor  by  the  blundering  old 
Scotch  woman. 

"  By  this  time  we  were  arrived  as  high  as  the  stairs  would 
permit  us  to  ascend,  till  we  came  to  what  he  was  facetiously 


GREEN  ARBOR  COURT.  115 


pleased  to  call  the  first  floor  down  the  chimney ;  and,  knocking  at 
the  door,  a  voice  from  within  demanded  'who's  there?'  My 
conductor  answered  that  it  was  him.  But  this  not  satisfying  the 
querist,  the  voice  again  repeated  the  demand,  to  which  he  an- 
swered louder  than  before ;  and  now  the  door  was  opened  by 
an  old  woman  with  cautious  reluctance. 

"  When  we  got  in  he  welcomed  me  to  his  house  with  great 
ceremony ;  and,  turning  to  the  old  woman,  asked  where  was  her 
lady.  '  Good  troth,'  replied  she,  in  a  peculiar  dialect,  '  she's 
washing  your  twa  shirts  at  the  next  door,  because  they  have 
taken  an  oath  against  lending  the  tub  any  longer.'  '  My  two 
shirts,'  cried  he,  in  a  tone  that  faltered  with  confusion ;  '  what 
does  the  idiot  mean  V  '  I  ken  what  I  mean  weel  enough,'  re- 
plied the  other  ;  '  she's  washing  your  twa  shirts  at  the  next  door, 
because — '  '  Fire  and  fury  !  no  more  of  thy  stupid  explanations,' 
cried  he;  'go  and  inform  her  we  have  company.  Were  that 
Scotch  hag  to  be  for  ever  in  my  family,  she  would  never  learn 
politeness,  nor  forget  that  absurd  poisonous  accent  of  hers,  or 
testify  the  smallest  specimen  of  breeding  or  high  life  ;  and  yet 
it  is  very  surprising  too,  as  I  had  her  from  a  Parliament  man,  a 
friend  of  mine  from  the  Highlands,  one  of  the  politest  men  in  the 
world  ;  but  that's  a  secret.'  "* 

Let  us  linger  a  little  in  G-reen  Arbor  Court,  a  place  conse- 
crated by  the  genius  and  the  poverty  of  Goldsmith,  but  recently 
obliterated  in- the  course  of  modern  improvements.  The  writer 
of  this  memoir  visited  it  not  many  years  since  on  a  literary  pil- 
grimage, and  may  be  excused  for  repeating  a  description  of  it 
which  he  has  heretofore  inserted  in  another  publication.  "  It 
then  existed  in  its  pristine  state,  and  was  a  small  square  of  tall 

*  Citizen  of  the  World,  letter  iv. 


116  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


V 


and  miserable  houses,  the  very  intestines  of  which  seemed  turned 
inside  out,  to  judge  from  the  old  garments  and  frippery  that  flut- 
tered from  every  window.  It  appeared  to  be  a  region  of  washer- 
women, and  lines  were  stretched  about  the  little  square,  on  which 
clothes  were  dangling  to  dry. 

"  Just  as  we  entered  the  square,  a  scuffle  took  place  between 
two  viragoes  about  a  disputed  right  to  a  washtub,  and  imme- 
diately the  whole  community  was  in  a  hubbub.  Heads  in  mob 
caps  popped  out  of  every  window,  and  such  a  clamor  of  tongues 
ensued  that  I  was  fain  to  stop  my  ears.  Every  amazon  took 
part  with  one  or  other  of  the  disputants,  and  brandished  her 
arms,  dripping  with  soapsuds,  and  fired  away  from  her  window  as 
from  the  embrasure  of  a  fortress  ;  while  the  screams  of  children 
nestled  and  cradled  in  every  procreant  chamber  of  this  hive, 
waking  with  the  noise,  set  up  their  shrill  pipes  to  swell  the 
general  concert."* 

While  in  these  forlorn  quarters,  suffering  under  extreme 
depression  of  spirits,  caused  by  his  failure  at  Surgeons'  Hall, 
the  disappointment  of  his  hopes,  and  his  harsh  collisions  with 
Griffiths,  Goldsmith  wrote  the  following  letter  to  his  brother 
Henry,  some  parts  of  which  are  most  touchingly  mournful. 

"Dear  Sir, 

"  Your  punctuality  in  answering  a  man  whose  trade  is  writing, 
is  more  than  I  had  reason  to  expect ;  and  yet  you  see  me  gener- 
ally fill  a  whole  sheet,  which  is  all  the  recompense  I  can  make 
for  being  so  frequently  troublesome.  The  behavior  of  Mr.  Mills 
and  Mr.  Lawder  is  a  little  extraordinary.  However,  their 
answeriug  neither  you  nor  me  is  a  sufficient  indication  of  their 

•  Tales  of  a  Traveller. 


LETTER  TO  HIS  BROTHER  HENRY.      117 


disliking  the  employment  which  I  assigned  them.  As  their 
conduct  is  different  from  what  I  had  expected,  so  I  have  made 
an  alteration  in  mine.  I  shall,  the  beginning  of  next  month, 
send  over  two  hundred  and  fifty  books,*  which  are  all  that  I 
fancy  can  be  well  sold  among  you,  and  I  would  have  you  make 
some  distinction  in  the  persons  who  have  subscribed.  The 
money,  which  will  amount  to  sixty  pounds,  may  be  left  with  Mr. 
Bradley  as  soon  as  possible.  I  am  not  certain  but  I  shall 
quickly  have  occasion  for  it. 

"  I  have  met  with  no  disappointment  with  respect  to  my  East 
India  voyage,  nor  are  my  resolutions  altered;  though,  at  the 
same  time,  I  must  confess,  it  gives  me  some  pain  to  think  I  am 
almost  beginning  the  world  at  the  age  of  thirty-one.  Though  I 
never  had  a  day's  sickness  since  I  saw  you,  yet  I  am  not  that 
strong,  active  man  you  once  knew  me.  You  scarcely  can  conceive 
how  much  eight  years  of  disappointment,  anguish,  and  study  have 
worn  me  down.  If  I  remember  right  you  are  seven  or  eight 
years  older  than  me,  yet  I  dare  venture  to  say,  that,  if  a  stranger 
saw  us  both,  he  would  pay  me  the  honors  of  seniority.  Imagine 
to  yourself  a  pale,  melancholy  visage,  with  two  great  wrinkles 
between  the  eyebrows,  with  an  eye  disgustingly  severe,  and  a  big 
wig  ;  and  you  may  have  a  perfect  picture  of  my  present  appearance. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  conceive  you  as  perfectly  sleek  and  healthy, 
passing  many  a  happy  day  among  your  own  children,  or  those 
who  knew  you  a  child. 

"  Since  I  knew  what  it  was  to  be  a  man,  this  is  a  pleasure  I 
have  not  known.  I  have  passed  my  days  among  a  parcel  of  cool, 
designing  beings,  and  have  contracted  all  their  suspicious  manner 

*  The  Inquiry  into  Polite  Literature.  His  previous  remarks  apply  to  the 
subscription. 


118  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


in  my  own  behaviour.  I  should  actually  be  as  unfit  for  the 
society  of  my  friends  at  home,  as  I  detest  that  which  I  am 
obliged  to  partake  of  here.  I  can  now  neither  partake  of  the 
pleasure  of  a  revel,  nor  contribute  to  raise  its  jollity.  I  can 
neither  laugh  nor  drink  ;  have  contracted  a  hesitating,  disagree- 
able manner  of  speaking,  and  a  visage  that  looks  ill-nature 
itself ;  in  short,  I  have  thought  myself  into  a  settled  melancholy, 
and  an  utter  disgust  of  all  that  life  brings  with  it.  Whence 
this  romantic  turn  that  all  our  family  are  possessed  with  ? 
Whence  this  love  for  every  place  and  every  country  but  that  in 
which  we  reside — for  every  occupation  but  our  own  ?  this  desire 
of  fortune,  and  yet  this  eagerness  to  dissipate  ?  I  perceive,  my 
dear  sir,  that  I  am  at  intervals  for  indulging  this  splenetic  man- 
ner, and  following  my  own  taste,  regardless  of  yours. 

"  The  reasons  you  have  given  me  for  breeding  up  your  son  a 
scholar  are  judicious  and  convincing  ;  I  should,  however,  be  glad 
to  know  for  what  particular  profession  he  is  designed.  If  he  be 
assiduous  and  divested  of  strong  passions  (for  passions  in  youth 
always  lead  to  pleasure),  he  may  do  very  well  in  your  college ; 
for  it  must  be  owned  that  the  industrious  poor  have  good  en- 
couragement there,  perhaps  better  than  in  any  other  in  Europe. 
But  if  he  has  ambition,  strong  passions,  and  an  exquisite  sensi- 
bility of  contempt,  do  not  send  him  there,  unless  you  have  no 
other  trade  for  him  but  your  own.  It  is  impossible  to  conceive 
how  much  may  be  done  by  proper  education  at  home.  A  boy, 
for  instance,  who  understands  perfectly  well  Latin,  French, 
arithmetic,  and  the  principles  of  the  civil  law,  and  can  write  a 
fine  hand,  has  an  education  that  may  qualify  him  for  any  under- 
taking ;  and  these  parts  of  learning  should  be  carefully  inculcated, 
let  him  be  designed  for  whatever  calling  he  will. 


WORLDLY   WISDOM.  119 


"Above  all  things,  let  him  never  touch  a  romance  or  novel: 
these  paint  beauty  in  colors  more  charming  than  nature,  and 
describe  happiness  that  man  never  tastes.  How  delusive,  how 
destructive  are  those  pictures  of  consummate  bliss  !  They  teach 
the  youthful  mind  to  sigh  after  beauty  and  happiness  that  never 
existed  ;  to  despise  the  little  good  which  fortune  has  mixed  in 
our  cup,  by  expecting  more  than  she  ever  gave ;  and,  in  general, 
take  the  word  of  a  man  who  has  seen  the  world,  and  who  has 
studied  human  nature  more  by  experience  than  precept :  take 
my  word  for  it,  I  say,  that  books  teach  us  very  little  of  the  world. 
The  greatest  merit  in  a  state  of  poverty  would  only  serve  to 
make  the  possessor  ridiculous — may  distress,  but  cannot  relieve 
him.  Frugality,  and  even  avarice,  in  the  lower  orders  of  man- 
kind, are  true  ambition.  These  afford  the  only  ladder  for  the 
poor  to  rise  to  preferment.  Teach  then,  my  dear  sir,  to  your 
son,  thrift  and  economy.  Let  his  poor  wandering  uncle's 
example  be  placed  before  his  eyes.  I  had  learned  from  books  to  \/ 
be  disinterested  and  generous,  before  I  was  taught  fron*  expe- 
rience the  necessity  of  being  prudent.  I  had  contracted  the 
habits  and  notions  of  a  philosopher,  while  I  was  exposing  myself 
to  the  approaches  of  insidious  cunning ;  and  often  by  being,  even 
with  my  narrow  finances,  charitable  to  excess,  I  forgot  the  rules 
of  justice,  and  placed  myself  in  the  very  situation  of  the  wretch 
who  thanked  me  for  my  bounty.  When  I  am  in  the  remotest 
part  of  the  world,  tell  him  this,  and  perhaps  he  may  improve 
from  my  example.  But  I  find  myself  again  falling  into  my 
gloomy  habits  of  thinking. 

"  My  mother,  I  am  informed,  is  almost  blind ;  even  though  I 
had  the  utmost  inclination  to  return  home,  under  such  circum- 
stances I  could  not,  for  to  behold  her  in  distress  without  a  capa- 


120  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


city  of  relieving  her  from  it,  would  add  much  to  my  splenetic 
habit.  Your  last  letter  was  much  too  short ;  it  should  have  an- 
swered some  queries  I  had  made  in  my  former.  Just  sit  down 
as  I  do,  and  write  forward  until  you  have  filled  all  your  paper. 
It  requires  no  thought,  at  least  from  the  ease  with  which  my  own 
3entiments  rise  when  they  are  addressed  to  you.  For,  believe 
me,  my  head  has  no  share  in  all  I  write ;  my  heart  dictates  the 
whole.  Pray  give  my  love  to  Bob  Bryanton,  and  entreat  him 
from  me  not  to  drink.  My  dear  sir,  give  me  some  account  about 
poor  Jenny.*  Yet  her  husband  loves  her :  if  so,  she  cannot  be 
unhappy. 

"  I  know  not  whether  I  should  tell  you — ^yet  why  should  I 
conceal  these  trifles,  or,  indeed,  any  thing  from  you  ?  There  is  a 
book  of  mine  will  be  published  in  a  few  days  :  the  life  of  a  very 
extraordinary  man  ;  no  less  than  the  great  Yoltaire.  You  know 
already  by  the  title  that  it  is  no  more  than  a  catchpenny.  How- 
ever, I  spent  but  four  weeks  on  the  whole  performance,  for  which 
I  received  twenty  pounds.  When  published,  I  shall  take  some 
method  of  conveying  it  to  you,  unless  you  may  think  it  dear  of 
the  postage,  which  may  amount  to  four  or  five  shillings.  How- 
ever, I  fear  you  will  not  find  an  equivalent  of  amusement. 

"  Your  last  letter,  I  repeat  it,  was  too  short ;  you  should  have 
given  me  your  opinion  of  the  design  of  the  heroi-comical  poem 
which  I  sent  you.  You  remember  I  intended  to  introduce  the 
hero  of  the  poem  as  lying  in  a  paltry  alehouse.  You  may  take 
the  following  specimen  of  the  manner,  which  I  flatter  myself  s 
quite  original.  The  room  in  which  he  lies  may  be  described 
somewhat  in  this  way  : 

»  His  sister,  Mrs.  Johnston  ;  her  marriage,  like  that  of  Mrs.  Hodson,  was 
private,  but  in  pecuniary  matters  much  less  fortunate. 


HEROI-COMICAL  POEM.  131 


"  '  The  window,  patched  with  paper,  lent  a  ray 
That  feebly  show'd  the  state  in  which  he  lay ; 
The  sanded  floor  that  grits  beneath  the  tread. 
The  humid  wall  with  paltry  pictures  spread  ; 
The  game  of  goose  was  there  exposed  to  view. 
And  the  twelve  rules  the  royal  martyr  drew  ; 
The  Seasons,  framed  with  listing,  found  a  place. 
And  Prussia's  monarch  show'd  his  lamp  black  face. 
The  morn  was  cold :  he  views  with  keen  desire 
A  rusty  grate  unconscious  of  a  fire  ; 
An  unpaid  reckoning  on  the  frieze  was  scored. 
And  five  crack'd  teacups  dress'd  the  chimney  board.' 

"  And  now  imagine,  after  his  soliloquy,  the  landlord  to  make 
his  appearance  in  order  to  dun  him  for  the  reckoning : 

"  '  Not  with  that  face,  so  servile  and  so  gay, 
That  welcomes  every  stranger  that  can  pay : 
With  sulky  eye  he  smoked  the  patient  man, 
Then  puU'd  his  breeches  tight,  and  thus  began,'  &c.* 

"  All  this  is  taken,  you  see,  from  nature.  It  is  a  good  remark 
of  Montaigne's,  that  the  wisest  men  often  have  friends  with  whom 
they  do  not  care  how  much  they  play  the  fool.  Take  my  present 
follies  as  instances  of  my  regard.  Poetry  is  a  much  easier  and 
more  agreeable  species  of  composition  than  prose ;  and,  could  a 
man  live  by  it,  it  were  not  unpleasant  employment  to  be  a  poet. 
I  am  resolved  to  leave  no  space,  though  I  should  fill  it  up  only 
by  telling  you,  what  you  very  well  know  already,  I  mean  that  I 
am  your  most  affectionate  friend  and  brother, 

"  Oliver  Goldsmith." 

*  The  projected  poem,  of  which  the  above  were  specimens,  appears  never 
to  have  been  completed. 

6 


122  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


The  Life  of  Voltaire,  alluded  to  in  the  latter  part  of  the  pre- 
ceding letter,  was  the  literary  job  undertaken  to  satisfy  the 
demands  of  Griffiths.  It  was  to  have  preceded  a  translation  of 
the  Henriade,  by  Ned  Purdon,  Goldsmith's  old  schoolmate,  now  a 
Grub-street  writer,  who  starved  rather  than  lived  by  the  exercise 
of  his  pen,  and  often  tasked  Goldsmith's  scanty  means  to  relieve 
his  hunger.  His  miserable  career  was  summed  up  by  our  poet 
in  the  following  lines  written  some  years  after  the  time  we  are 
treating  of,  on  hearing  that  he  had  suddenly  dropped  dead  in 
Smithfield : 

"  Here  lies  poor  Ned  Purdon,  from  misery  freed. 
Who  long  was  a  bookseller's  hack  ; 
He  led  such  a  damnable  life  in  this  world, 
I  don't  think  he'll  wish  to  come  back." 

The  memoir  and  translation,  though  advertised  to  form  a 
volume,  were  not  published  together ;  but  appeared  separately  in 
a  magazine. 

As  to  the  heroi-comical  poem,  also,  cited  in  the  foregoing  let- 
ter, it  appears  to  have  perished  in  embryo.  Had  it  been  brought 
to  maturity  we  should  have  had  further  traits  of  autobiography ; 
the  room  already  described  was  probably  his  own  squalid  quarters 
in  Green  Arbor  Court ;  and  in  a  subsequent  morsel  of  the  poem 
we  have  the  poet  himself,  under  the  euphonious  name  of  Scroggin : 

"  Where  the  Red  Lion  peering  o'er  the  way. 
Invites  each  passing  stranger  that  can  pay  ; 
Where  Calvert's  butt  and  Parson's  black  champaigne 
Regale  the  drabs  and  bloods  of  Drury  Lane  :  / 
There,  in  a  lonely  room,  from  baiUfFs  snug, 
The  muse  found  Scroggin  stretch'd  beneath  a  rug ; 


SCROGGIN.  123 


A  nightcap  deck'd  his  brows  instead  of  bay, 
A  cap  by  night,  a  stocking  all  the  day  I" 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  this  poetical  conception  was  not 
carried  out:  like  the  author's  other  writings,  it  might  have 
abounded  with  pictures  of  life  and  touches  of  nature  drawn  from 
his  own  observation  and  experience,  and  mellowed  by  his  own 
humane  and  tolerant  spirit ;  and  might  have  been  a  worthy  com- 
panion or  rather  contrast  to  his  "  Traveller "  and  "  Deserted 
Village,"  and  have  remained  in  the  language  a  first-rate  speci- 
men of  the  mock-beroic. 


124  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


DV'^- 


CHAPTER  XL 


Publication  of  ''  The  Inquiry." — Attacked  by  Griffiths'  Review. — Kenrick  the 
literary  Ishma elite. — Periodical  literature. — Goldsmith's  essays. — Garrick 
as  a  manager. — Smollett  and  his  schemes. — Change  of  lodgings. — The 
Robin  Hood  club. 

Towards  the  end  of  March,  1759,  the  treatise  on  which  Gold- 
smith had  laid  so  much  stress,  on  which  he  at  one  time  had  cal- 
culated to  defray  the  expenses  of  his  outfit  to  India,  and  to 
which  he  had  adverted  in  his  correspondence  with  Griffiths,  made 
its  appearance.  It  was  published  by  the  Dodsleys,  and  entitled 
"An  Inquiry  into  the  Present  State  of  Polite  Learning  in 
Europe." 

In  the  present  day,  when  the  whole  field  of  contemporary 
literature  is  so  widely  surveyed  and  amply  discussed,  and  when 
the  current  productions  of  every  country  are  constantly  collated 
and  ably  criticised,  a  treatise  like  that  of  Goldsmith  would  be 
considered  as  extremely  limited  and  un satisfactory ^.but  at  that 
time  it  possessed  novelty  in  its  views  and  wideness  in  its  scope, 
and  being  indued  with  the  peculiar  charm  of  style  inseparable 
from  the  author,  it  commanded  public  attention  and  a  profitable 
sale.-'  As  it  was  the  most  important  production  that  had  yet 
come  from  Goldsmith's  pen,  he  was  anxious  to  have  the  credit  of 
it ;    yet  it  appeared  without  his  name  on  the  title-page.     The 


A  LITERARY  ISHMAELITE.  125 


authorship,  however,  was  well  known  throughout  the  world  of 
letters,  and  the  author  had  now  grown  into  sufficient  literary 
importance  to  become  an  object  of  hostility  to  the  underlings  of 
the  press.  One  of  the  most  virulent  attacks  upon  him  was  in  a 
criticism  on  this  treatise,  and  appeared  in  the  Monthly  Review, 
to  which  he  himself  had  been  recently  a  contributor.  It  slan- 
dered him  as  a  man  while  it  decried  him  as  an  author,  and 
accused  him,  by  innuendo,  of  "laboring  under  the  infamy  of 
having,  by  the  vilest  and  meanest  actions,  forfeited  all  preten- 
sions to  honor  and  honesty,"  and  of  practising  "  those  acts 
which  bring  the  sharper  to  the  cart's  tail  or  the  pillory." 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  Review  was  owned  by  Grif- 
fiths the  bookseller,  with  whom  Goldsmith  had  recently  had  a 
misunderstanding.  The  criticism,  therefore,  was  no  doubt  dic- 
tated by  the  lingerings  of  resentment ;  and  the  imputations  upon 
Goldsmith's  character  for  honor  and  honesty,  and  the  vile  and 
mean  actions  hinted  at,  could  only  allude  to  the  unfortunate 
pawning  of  the  clothes.  All  this,  too,  was  after  Griffiths  had 
received  the  aiFecting  letter  from  Goldsmith,  drawing  a  picture  of 
his  poverty  and  perplexities,  and  after  the  latter  had  made  him 
a  literary  compensation.  Griffiths,  in  fact,  was  sensible  of  the 
falsehood  and  extravagance  of  the  attack,  and  tried  to  exonerate 
himself  by  declaring  that  the  criticism  was  written  by  a  person 
in  his  employ ;  but  we  see  no  difference  in  atrocity  between  him 
who  wields  the  knife  and  him  who  hires  the  cut-throat.  It  may 
he  well,  however,  in  passing,  to  bestow  our  mite  of  notoriety 
upon  the  miscreant  who  launched  the  slander.  He  deserves  it 
for  a  long  course  of  dastardly  and  venomous  attacks,  not  merely 
upon  Goldsmith,  but  upon  most  of  the  successful  authors  of  the 
day.     His  name  was  Kenrick.     He  was  originally  a  mechanic, 


126  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


but,  possessing  some  degree  of  talent  and  industry,  applied 
himself  to  literature  as  a  profession.  This  he  pursued  for  many 
years,  and  tried  his  hand  in  every  department  of  prose  and 
poetry ;  he  wrote  plays  and  satires,  philosophical  tracts,  critical 
dissertations,  and  works  on  philology ;  nothing  from  his  pen  ever 
rose  to  first-rate  excellence,  or  gained  him  a  popular  name, 
though  he  received  from  some  university  the  degree  of  Doctor  of 
Laws.  Dr.  Johnson  characterized  his  literary  career  in  one 
short  sentence.  "  Sir,  he  is  one  of  the  many  who  have  made 
themselves  ^z^5//c  without  making  themselves  k7iowny 

Soured  by  his  own  want  of  success,  jealous  of  the  success  of 
others,  his  natural  irritability  of  temper  increased  by  habits  of 
intemperance,  he  at  length  abandoned  himself  to  the  practice  of 
reviewing,  and  became  onie  of  the  Ishmaelites  of  the  press.  In 
this  his  malignant  bitterness  soon  gave  him  a  notoriety  which  his 
talents  had  never  been  able  to  attain.  We  shall  dismiss  him  for 
the  present  with  the  following  sketch  of  him  by  the  hand  of  one 
of  his  contemporaries : 

"  Dreaming  of  genius  which  he  never  had, 
Half  wit,  half  fool,  half  critic,  and  half  mad  ;' 
Seizing,  like  Shirley,  on  the  poet's  lyre. 
With  all  his  rage,  but  not  one  spark  of  fire  ; 
Eager  for  slaughter,  and  resolved  to  tear 
From  other's  brows  that  wreath  he  must  not  wear — 
Next  Kenrick  came :  all  furious  and  replete 
With  brandy,  malice,  pertness,  and  conceit ; 
Unskill'd  in  classic  lore,  through  envy  blind 
To  all  that's  beauteous,  learned,  or  refined  ; 
For  faults  alone  behold  the  savage  prowl. 
With  reason's  offal  glut  his  ravenmg  soul ; 


PERIODICAL  LITERATURE.  127 


Pleased  with  his  prey,  its  inmost  blood  he  drinks. 
And  mumbles,  paws,  and  turns  it — till  it  stinks." 

The  British  press  about  this  time  was  extravagantly  fruitful 
of  periodical  publications.  That  "  oldest  inhabitant,"  the  Gen- 
tleman's Magazine,  almost  coeval  with  St.  John's  gate  which 
graced  its  title-page,  had  long  been  elbowed  by  magazines  and 
reviews  of  all  kinds  :  Johnson's  Rambler  had  introduced  the 
fashion  of  periodical  essays,  which  he  had  followed  up  in  his 
Adventurer  and  Idler.  Imitations  had  sprung  up  on  every  side, 
under  every  variety  of  name ;  until  British  literature  was  en- 
tirely overrun  by  a  weedy  and  transient  efflorescence.  Many  of 
these  rival  periodicals  choked  each  other  almost  at  the  outset, 
and  few  of  them  have  escaped  oblivion. 

Groldsmith  wrote  for  some  of  the  most  successful,  such  as  the 
Bee,  the  Busy-Body,  and  the  Lady's  Magazine.  His  essays, 
though  characterized  by  his  delightful  style,  his  pure,  benevolent 
morality,  and  his  mellow,  unobtrusive  humor,  did  not  produce 
equal  effect  at  first  with  more  garish  writings  of  infinitely  less 
value ;  they  did  not  "  strike,"  as  it  is  termed  ;  but  they  had  that 
rare  and  enduring  merit  which  rises  in  estimation  on  every 
perusal.  They  gradually  stole  upon  the  heart  of  the  public,  were 
copied  into  numerous  contemporary  publications,  and  now  they 
are  garnered  up  among  the  choice  productions  of  British  liter- 
ature. 

In  his  Inquiry  into  the  State  of  Polite  Learning,  Goldsmith 
had  given  offence  to  David  Garrick,  at  that  time  the  autocrat  of 
the  Drama,  and  was  doomed  to  experience  its  effect.  A  clamor 
had  been  raised  against  Garrick  for  exercising  a  despotism  over 
the  stage,  and  bringing  forward  nothing  but  old  plays  to  the 


128  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


exclusion  of  original  productions.  Walpole  joined  in  this  charge. 
"  Garrick,"  said  he,  "  is  treating  the  town  as  it  deserves  and 
likes  to  be  treated  ;  with  scenes,  fire-works,  and  his  own  writings. 
A  good  new  play  I  never  expect  to  see  more  ;  nor  have  seen 
since  the  Provoked  Husband,  which  came  out  when  I  was  at 
S3hool."  Groldsmith,  who  was  extremel}^  fond  of  the  theatre, 
and  felt  the  evils  of  this  system,  inveighed  in  his  treatise  against 
the  wrongs  experienced  by  authors  at  the  hands  of  managers. 
"  Our  poet's  performance,"  said  he,  "  must  undergo  a  process 
truly  chemical  before  it  is  presented  to  the  public.  It  must  be 
tried  in  the  manager's  fire ;  strained  through  a  licenser,  sufi'er 
from  repeated  corrections,  till  it  may  be  a  mere  caput  mortuum 
when  it  arrives  before  the  public."  Again. — '•  Getting  a  play  on 
even  in  three  or  four  years  is  a  privilege  reserved  only  for  the 
happy  few  who  have  the  arts  of  courting  the  manager  as  well  as 
the  muse ;  who  have  adulation  to  please  his  vanity,  powerful 
patrons  to  support  their  merit,  or  money  to  indemnify  disap- 
pointment. Our  Saxon  ancestors  had  but  one  name  for  a  wit 
and  a  witch.  I  will  not  dispute  the  propriety  of  uniting  those 
characters  then ;  but  the  man  who  under  present  discouragements 
ventures  to  write  for  the  stage,  whatever  claim  he  may  have  to 
the  appellation  of  a  wit,  at  least  has  no  right  to  be  called  a  con- 
jurer" But  a  passage  which  perhaps  touched  more  sensibly 
than  all  the  rest  on  the  sensibilities  of  Garrick,  was  the  fol- 
lowing. 

"  I  have  no  particular  spleen  against  the  fellow  who  sweeps 
^he  stage  with  the  besom,  or  the  hero  who  brushes  it  with  his 
train.  It  were  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me,  whether  our  he- 
roines are  in  keeping,  or  our  candle-snuffers  burn  their  fingers, 
did  not  such  make  a  great  part  of  public  care  and  polite  conver- 


GARRICK  AS  A  MANAGER.  12d 


sation.  Our  actors  assume  all  that  state  oiF  the  stage  which  they 
do  on  it ;  and,  to  use  an  expression  borrowed  from  the  green- 
room, every  one  is  up  in  his  part.  I  am  sorry  to  say  it,  they 
seem  to  forget  their  real  characters." 

These  strictures  were  considered  by  Garrick  as  intended  for 
himself,  and  they  were  rankling  in  his  mind  when  Goldsmith 
waited  upon  him  and  solicited  his  vote  for  the  vacant  secretary- 
ship of  the  Society  of  Arts,  of  which  the  manager  was  a  member. 
Garrick,  puflFed  up  by  his  dramatic  renown  and  his  intimacy 
with  the  great,  and  knowing  Goldsmith  only  by  his  budding  re- 
putation, may  not  have  considered  him  of  sufficient  importance 
to  be  conciliated.  In  reply  to  his  solicitations,  he  observed  that 
he  could  hardly  expect  his  friendly  exertions  after  the  unprovoked 
attack  he  had  made  upon  his  management.  Goldsmith  replied 
that  he  had  indulged  in  no  personalitiea,  and  had  only  spoken 
what  he  believed  to  be  the  truth.  He  made  no  further  apology 
nor  application  ;  failed  to  get  the  appointment,  and  considered 
Garrick  his  enemy.  In  the  second  edition  of  his  treatise  he  ex- 
punged or  modified  the  passages  which  had  given  the  manager 
offence  ;  but  though  the  author  and  actor  became  intimate  in 
after  years,  this  false  step  at  the  outset  of  their  intercourse  was 
never  forgotten. 

About  this  time  Goldsmith  engaged  with  Dr.  Smollett,  who 
was  about  to  launch  the  British  Magazine.  Smollett  was  a  com- 
plete schemer  and  speculator  in  literature,  and  intent  upon  enter- 
prises that  had  money  rather  than  reputation  in  view.  Goldsmith 
has  a  good-humored  hit  at  this  propensity  in  one  of  his  papers 
in  the  Bee,  in  which  he  represents  Johnson,  Hume,  and  others 
taking  seats  in  the  stagecoach  bound  for  Fame,  while  Smollett  pre- 
fers that  destined  for  Biches. 

6* 


130  OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 


Another  prominent  employer  of  Goldsmith  was  Mr.  John 
Newbery,  who  engaged  him  to  contribute  occasional  essays  to  a 
newspaper  entitled  the  Public  Ledger,  which  made  its  first  ap- 
pearance on  the  12th  of  January,  17-60.  His  most  valuable  and 
characteristic  contributions  to  this  paper  were  his  Chinese  Let- 
ters, subsequently  modified  into  the  Citizen  of  the  World.  These 
lucubrations  attracted  general  attention  ;  they  were  reprinted  in 
the  various  periodical  publications  of  the  day,  and  met  with  great 
applause.  The  name  of  the  author,  however,  was  as  yet  but  little 
known. 

Being  now  easier  in  circumstances,  and  in  the  receipt  of  fre- 
quent sums  from  the  booksellers,  Groldsmith,  about  the  middle 
of  1760,  emerged  from  his  dismal  abode  in  Green  Arbor  Court, 
and  took  respectable  apartments  in  Wine-Office  Court,  Fleet- 
street. 

Still  he  continued  to  look  back  with  considerate  benevolence 
to  the  poor  hostess,  whose  necessities  he  had  relieved  by  pawning 
his  gala  coat,  for  we  are  told  that  "  he  often  supplied  her  with 
food  from  his  own  table,  and  visited  her  frequently  with  the  sole 
purpose  to  be  kind  to  her." 

He  now  became  a  member  of  a  debating  club,  called  the 
Kobin  Hood,  which  used  to  meet  near  Temple  Bar,  and  in  which 
Burke,  while  yet  a  Temple  student,  had  first  tried  his  powers. 
Goldsmith  spoke  here  occasionally,  and  is  recorded  in  the  Robin 
Hood  archives  as  "  a  candid  disputant,  with  a  clear  head  and  an 
honest  heart,  though  coming  but  seldom  to  the  society."  His 
relish  was  for  clubs  of  a  more  social,  jovial  nature,  and  he  was 
never  fond  of  argument.  An  amusing  anecdote  is  told  of  his 
first  introduction  to  the  club,  by  Samuel  Derrick,  an  Irish  ac- 
quaintance of  some  humor.     On  entering.  Goldsmith  was  struck 


ANECDOTE.  131 


with  the  self-important  appearance  of  the  chairman  ensconced  in 
a  large  gilt  chair.  "  This,"  said  he,  "  must  be  the  Lord  Chancel- 
lor at  least."  "  No,  no,"  replied  Derrick,  "  he's  only  master  of  the 
rolls}'' — The  chairman  was  a  haker. 


132  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

New  lodgings. — Visits  of  ceremony. — Hangers-on. — Pilkington  and  the  white 
mouse  — Introduction  to  Dr.  Johnson. — Davies  and  his  bookshop. — Pretty 
Mrs.  Davies. — Foote  and  his  projects. — Criticism  of  the  cudgel. 

In  his  new  lodgings  in  Wine-Office  Court,  Goldsmith  began  to 
receive  visits  of  ceremony,  and  to  entertain  his  literary  friends. 
Among  the  latter  he  now  numbered  several  names  of  note,  such 
as  Guthrie,  Murphy,  Christopher  Smart,  and  Bickerstaff.  He 
had  also  a  numerous  class  of  hangers-on,  the  small  fry  of  litera- 
ture ;  who,  knowing  his  almost  utter  incapacity  to  refuse  a  pecu- 
niary request,  were  apt,  now  that  he  was  considered  flush,  to  levy 
continual  taxes  upon  his  purse. 

Among  others,  one  Pilkington,  an  old  college  acquaintance, 
but  now  a  shifting  adventurer,  duped  him  in  the  most  ludicrous 
manner.  He  called  on  him  with  a  face  full  of  perplexity.  A 
lady  of  the  first  rank  having  an  extraordinary  fancy  for  curious 
animals,  for  which  she  was  willing  to  give  enormous  sums,  he  had 
procured  a  couple  of  white  mice  to  be  forwarded  to  her  from 
India.  They  were  actually  on  board  of  a  ship  in  the  river. 
Her  grace  had  been  apprized  of  their  arrival,  and  was  all  impa- 
tience to  see  them.  Unfortunately,  he  had  no  cage  to  put  them 
in,  nor  clothes  to  appear  in  before  a  lady  of  her  rank.     Two 


PILKINGTON  AND  THE  WHITE  MOUSE.  133 


guineas  would  be  sufficient  for  his  purpose,  but  where  were  two 
guineas  to  be  procured  ! 

The  simple  heart  of  Goldsmith  was  touched  ;  but,  alas  !  he  had 
but  half  a  guinea  in  his  pocket.  It  was  unfortunate,  but,  after 
a  pause,  his  friend  suggested,  with  some  hesitation,  "  that  money 
might  be  raised  upon  his  watch :  it  would  but  be  the  loan  of  a 
few  hours."  So  said,  so  done  ;  the  watch  was  delivered  to  the  ^ 
worthy  Mr.  Pilkington  to  be  pledged  at  a  neighboring  pawn- 
broker's, but  nothing  farther  was  ever  seen  of  him,  the  watch,  or 
the  white  mice.  The  next  that  Goldsmith  heard  of  the  poor 
shifting  scapegrace,  he  was  on  his  death-bed,  starving  with  want, 
upon  which,  forgetting  or  forgiving  the  trick  he  had  played  upon 
him,  he  sent  him  a  guinea.  Indeed  he  used  often  to  relate  with 
great  humor  the  foregoing  anecdote  of  his  credulity,  and  was 
ultimately  in  some  degree  indemnified  by  its  suggesting  to  him 
the  amusing  little  story  of  Prince  Bonbennin  and  the  White 
Mouse  in  the  Citizen  of  the  World. 

In  this  year  Goldsmith  became  personally  acquainted  with 
Dr.  Johnson,  toward  whom  he  was  drawn  by  strong  sympathies, 
though  their  natures  were  widely  different.  Both  had  struggled 
from  early  life  with  poverty,  but  had  struggled  in  different  ways. 
Goldsmith,  buoyant,  heedless,  sanguine,  tolerant  of  evils  and 
easily  pleased,  had  shifted  along  by  any  temporary  expedient ;  ^ 
cast  down  at  every  turn,  but  rising  again  with  indomitable  good- 
humor,  and  still  carried  forward  by  his  talent  at  hoping.  John- 
son, melancholy  and  hypochondriacal,  and  prone  to  apprehend  the 
worst,  yet  sternly  resolute  to  battle  with  and  conquer  it,  had 
made  his  way  doggedly  and  gloomily,  but  with  a  noble  principle 
of  self-reliance  and  a  disregard  of  foreign  aid.  Both  had  been 
irregular  at  college,  Goldsmith,  as  we  have  shown,  from  the  levity 


134  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


of  his  nature  and  his  social  and  convivial  habits ;  Johnson,  from 
his  acerbity  and  gloom.  When,  in  after  life,  the  latter  heard 
himself  spoken  of  as  gay  and  frolicksome  at  college,  because  he 
had  joined  in  some  riotous  excesses  there,  "  Ah,  sir  !"  replied 
he,  "  I  was  mad  and  violent.  It  was  bitterness  which  they  mis- 
took for  frolic.  I  was  miserably  poor  ^  and  I  thought  to  fight  my 
way  by  m^y  literature  and  my  ivit.  So  I  disregarded  all  power 
and  all  authority." 

Goldsmith's  poverty  was  never  accompanied  by  bitterness ; 
but  neither  was  it  accompanied  by  the  guardian  pride  which  kept 
Johnson  from  falling  into  the  degrading  shifts  of  poverty.  Gold- 
smith had  an  unfortunate  facility  at  borrowing,  and  helping  him- 
self along  by  the  contributions  of  his  friends  ;  no  doubt  trusting, 
in  his  hopeful  way,  of  one  day  making  retribution.  Johnson 
never  hoped,  and  therefore  never  borrowed.  In  his  sternest 
trials  he  proudly  bore  the  ills  he  could  not  master.  In  his  youth, 
when  some  unknown  friend,  seeing  his  shoes  completely  worn 
out,  left  a  new  pair  at  his  chamber  door,  he  disdained  to  accept 
the  boon,  and  threw  them  away. 

Though  like  Goldsmith  an  immethodical  student,  he  had  im 
bibed  deeper  draughts  of  knowledge,  and  made  himself  a  riper 
scholar.  While  Goldsmith's  happy  constitution  and  genial  humors 
carried  him  abroad  into  sunshine  and  enjoyment,  Johnson's 
physical  infirmities  and  mental  gloom  drove  him  upon  himself; 
to  the  resources  of  reading  and  meditation ;  threw  a  deeper 
though  darker  enthusiasm  into  his  mind,  and  stored  a  retentive 
memory  with  all  kinds  of  knowledge. 

After  several  years  of  youth  passed  in  the  country  as  usher, 
teacher,  and  an  occasional  writer  for  the  press,  Johnson,  when 
twenty-eight  years  of  age,  came  up  to  London  with  a  half-written 


DR.  JOHNSON.  135 


tragedy  in  his  pocket ;  and  David  Garrick,  late  his  pupil,  and 
several  years  his  junior,  as  a  companion,  both  poor  and  penniless, 
both,  like  Groldsmith,  seeking  their  fortune  in  the  metropolis. 
"  We  rode  and  tied,"  said  Garrick  sportively  in  after  years  of 
prosperity,  when  he  spoke  of  their  humble  wayfaring.  "  I  came 
to  London,"  said  Johnson,  "with  twopence  halfpenny  in  my 
pocket." — "  Eh,  what's  that  you  say  ?"  cried  Garrick,  "  with  two- 
pence halfpenny  in  your  pocket  ?"  "  Why,  yes :  I  came  with 
twopence  halfpenny  in  my  pocket,  and  thou,  Davy,  with  but 
three  halfpence  in  thine."  Nor  was  there  much  exaggeration  in 
the  picture ;  for  so  poor  were  they  in  purse  and  credit,  that  after 
their  arrival  they  had,  with  difficulty,  raised  five  pounds,  by 
giving  their  joint  note  to  a  bookseller  in  the  Strand. 

Many,  many  years  had  Johnson  gone  on  obscurely  in  London, 
"  fighting  his  way  by  his  literature  and  his  wit ;"  enduring  all 
the  hardships  and  miseries  of  a  Grub-street  writer :  so  destitute 
at  one  time,  that  he  and  Savage  the  poet  had  walked  all  night 
about  St.  James's  Square,  both  too  poor  to  pay  for  a  night's 
lodging,  yet  both  full  of  poetry  and  patriotism,  and  determined 
to  stand  by  their  country ;  so  shabby  in  dress  at  another  time, 
that  when  he  dined  at  Cave's,  his  bookseller,  when  there  was 
prosperous  company,  he  could  not  make  his  appearance  at  table, 
but  had  his  dinner  handed  to  him  behind  a  screen. 

Yet  through  all  the  long  and  dreary  struggle,  often  diseased 
in  mind  as  well  as  in  body,  he  had  been  resolutely  self-dependent, 
and  proudly  self-respectful ;  he  had  fulfilled  his  college  vow, 
he  had  "fought  his  way  by  his  literature  and  his  wit."  His 
"  Rambler  "  and  "  Idler  "  had  made  him  the  great  moralist  of 
the  age,  and  his  "  Dictionary  and  History  of  the  English  Lan- 
guage,"   that   stupendous   monument  of   individual   labor,  had 


136  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


excited  the  admiration  of  the  learned  world.  He  was  now  at  the 
head  of  intellectual  society :  and  had  become  as  distinguished 
by  his  conversational  as  his  literary  powers.  He  had  become  as 
much  an  autocrat  in  his  sphere  as  his  fellow-wayfarer  and  adven- 
turer Grarrick  had  become  of  the  stage,  and  had  been  humorously 
dubbed  by  Smollett,  "  The  Grreat  Cham  of  Literature." 

Such  was  Dr.  Johnson,  when  on  the  31st  of  May,  1761,  he 
was  to  make  his  appearance  as  a  guest  at  a  literary  supper  given 
by  Goldsmith,  to  a  numerous  party  at  his  new  lodgings  in  Wine- 
Office  Court.  It  was  the  opening  of  their  acquaintance,  John- 
son had  felt  and  acknowledged  the  merit  of  Goldsmith  as  an 
author,  and  been  pleased  by  the  honorable  mention  made  of  him- 
self in  the  Bee  and  the  Chinese  Letters.  Dr.  Percy  called  upon 
Johnson  to  take  him  to  Goldsmith's  lodgings  ;  he  found  Johnson 
arrayed  with  unusual  care  in  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  a  new  hat, 
and  a  well-powdered  wig ;  and  could  not  but  notice  his  uncom- 
mon spruceuess.  "  Why,  sir,"  replied  Johnson,  "  I  hear  that 
Goldsmith,  who  is  a  very  great  sloven,  justifies  his  disregard  of 
cleanliness  and  decency  by  quoting  my  practice,  and  I  am  desir- 
ous this  night  to  show  him  a  better  example." 

The  acquaintance  thus  commenced  ripened  into  intimacy  in 
the  course  of  frequent  meetings  at  the  shop  of  Davies,  the  book- 
seller, in  Russell-street,  Covent  Garden.  As  this  was  one  of  the 
great  literary  gossiping  places  of  the  day,  especially  to  the  cir- 
cle over  which  Johnson  presided,  it  is  worthy  of  some  specifica- 
tion. Mr.  Thomas  Davies,  noted  in  after  times  as  the  biographer 
of  Garrick,  had  originally  been  on  the  stage,  and  though  a  small 
man,  had  enacted  tyrannical  tragedy,  with  a  pomp  and  magnilo- 
quence beyond  his  size,  if  we  may  trust  the  description  given  of 
him  by  Churchill  in  the  Rosciad  : 


DAVIES  AND  HIS  BOOK-SHOP.  137 


"  Statesman  all  over — in  plots  famous  grown, 
He  mouths  a  sentence  as  curs  mouth  a  bone." 

This  unlucky  sentence  is  said  to  have  crippled  him  in  the  midst 
of  his  tragic  career,  and  ultimately  to  have  driven  him  from  the 
stage.  He  carried  into  the  bookselling  craft  somewhat  of  the 
grandiose  manner  of  the  stage,  and  was  prone  to  be  mouthy  and 
magniloquent. 

Churchill  had  intimated,  that  while  on  the  stage  he  was 
more  noted  for  his  pretty  wife  than  his  good  acting : 

"  With  him  came  mighty  Davies  ;  on  my  life. 
That  fellow  has  a  very  pretty  wife." 

'  Pretty  Mrs.  Davies '  continued  to  be  the  lode-star  of  his 
fortunes.  Her  tea-table  became  almost  as  much  a  literary 
lounge  as  her  husband's  shop.  She  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Ursa  Major  of  literature  by  her  winning  ways,  as  she  poured 
out  for  him  cups  without  stint  of  his  favorite  beverage.  Indeed 
it  is  suggested  that  she  was  one  leading  cause  of  his  habitual 
resort  to  this  literary  haunt.  Others  were  drawn  thither  for  the 
sake  of  Johnson's  conversation,  and  thus  it  became  a  resort  of 
many  of  the  notorieties  of  the  day.  Here  might  occasionally  be 
seen  Bennet  Langton,  George  Stevens,  Dr.  Percy,  celebrated  for 
his  ancient  ballads,  and  sometimes  Warburton  in  prelatic  state. 
Garrick  resorted  to  it  for  a  time,  but  soon  grew  shy  and  suspi- 
cious, declaring  that  most  of  the  authors  who  frequented  Mr. 
Davies's  shop  went  merely  to  abuse  him. 

Foote,  the  Aristophanes  of  the  day,  was  a  frequent  visitor ; 
his  broad  face  beaming  with  fun  and  waggery,  and  his  satirical 
eye  ever  on   the  look-out  for  characters  and  incidents  for  his 


138  ^  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


farces.  He  was  struck  with  tlie  odd  habits  and  appearance  of 
Johnson  and  Goldsmith,  now  so  often  brought  together  in 
Davies's  shop.  He  was  about  to  put  on  the  stage  a  farce  called 
The  Orators,  intended  as  a  hit  at  the  Robin  Hood  debating  club, 
and  resolved  to  show  up  the  two  doctors  in  it  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  the  town. 

"  What  is  the  common  price  of  an  oak  stick,  sir  ?"  said  John- 
son to  Davies.  "  Sixpence,"  was  the  reply.  "  Why  then,  sir, 
give  me  leave  to  send  your  servant  to  purchase  a  shilling  one. 
I'll  have  a  double  quantity  ;  for  I  am  told  Foote  means  to  take 
me  oif  as  he  calls  it,  and  I  am  determined  the  fellow  shall  not 
do  it  with  impunity." 

Foote  had  no  disposition  to  undergo  the  criticism  of  the 
cudgel  wielded  by  such  potent  hands,  so  the  farce  of  The  Orators 
appeared  without  the  caricatures  of  the  lexicographer  and  the 
essayist. 


ORIENTAL   PROJECTS.  139 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Oriental  projects. — Literary  jobs. — The  Cherokee  chiefs. — Merry  Islington 
and  the  White  Conduit  House. — Letters  on  the  History  of  England. — 
James  Boswell. — Dinner  of  Davies. — Anecdotes  of  Johnson  and  Gold- 
smith. 

Notwithstanding  his  growing  success,  Goldsmith  continued  to 
consider  literature  a  mere  make-shift,  and  his  vagrant  imagina- 
tion teemed  with  schemes  and  plans  of  a  grand  but  indefinite 
nature.  One  was  for  visiting  the  East  and  exploring  the  interior 
of  Asia.  He  had,  as  has  been  before  observed,  a  vague  notion 
that  valuable  discoveries  were  to  be  made  there,  and  many  useful 
inventions  in  the  arts  brought  back  to  the  stock  of  European 
knowledge.  "  Thus,  in  Siberian  Tartary,"  observes  he,  in  one  of 
his  writings,  "the  natives  extract  a  strong  spirit  from  milk, 
which  is  a  secret  probably  unknown  to  the  chemists  of  Europe. 
In  the  most  savage  parts  of  India  they  are  possessed  of  the 
secret  of  dying  vegetable  substances  scarlet,  and  that  of  refining 
lead  into  a  metal  which,  for  hardness  and  color,  is  little  inferior 
to  silver." 

Goldsmith  adds  a  description  of  the  kind  of  person  suited  to 
such  an  enterprise,  in  which  he  evidently  had  himself  in  view. 

"  He   should  be  a  man  of  philosophical  turn,  one  apt  to  de- 


140  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


duce  consequences  of  general  utility  from  particular  occurrences  ; 
neither  swoln  with  pride,  nor  hardened  by  prejudice  ;  neither 
wedded  to  one  particular  system,  nor  instructed  only  in  one 
particular  science  ;  neither  wholly  a  botanist,  nor  quite  an  anti- 
quarian ;  his  mind  should  be  tinctured  with  miscellaneous  know- 
hdge,  and  his  manners  humanized  by  an  intercourse  with  men. 
He  should  be  in  some  measure  an  enthusiast  to  the  design  ;  fond 
of  travelling,  from  a  rapid  imagination  and  an  innate  love  of 
change ;  furnished  with  a  body  capable  of  sustaining  every 
fatigue,  and  a  heart  not  easily  terrified  at  danger." 

In  1761,  when  Lord  Bute  became  prime  minister  on  the 
accession  of  George  the  Third,  Goldsmith  drew  up  a  memorial 
on  the  subject,  suggesting  the  advantages  to  be  derived  from  a 
mission  to  those  countries  solely  for  useful  and  scientific  pur- 
poses ;  and,  the  better  to  insure  success,  he  preceded  his  applica- 
tion to  the  government  by  an  ingenious  essay  to  the  same  effect 
in  the  Public  Ledger. 

His  memorial  and  his  essay  were  fruitless,  his  project  most 
probably  being  deemed  the  dream  of  a  visionary.  Still  it  con- 
tinued to  haunt  his  mind,  and  he  would  often  talk  of  making  an 
expedition  to  Aleppo  some  time  or  other,  when  his  means  were 
greater,  to  inquire  into  the  arts  peculiar  to  the  East,  and  to 
bring  home  such  as  might  be  valuable.  Johnson,  who  knew  how 
little  poor  Goldsmith  was  fitted  by  scientific  lore  for  this  favorite 
scheme  of  his  fancy,  scofi'ed  at  the  project  when  it  was  mentioned 
to  him.  "  Of  all  men,"  said  he,  "  Goldsmith  is  the  most  unfit 
to  go  out  upon  such  an  inquiry,  for  he  is  utterly  ignorant  of  such 
arts  as  we  already  possess,  and,  consequently,  could  not  know 
what  would  be  accessions  to  our  present  stock  of  mechanical 
knowledge.     Sir,  he  would  bring  home  a  grinding  barrow,  which 


THE  CHEROKEE  CHIEFS.  141 


you  see  in  every  street  in  London,  and  think  that  he  had  fur- 
nished a  wonderful  improvement." 

His  connection  with  Newbery  the  bookseller  now  led  him  into 
a  variety  of  temporary  jobs,  such  as  a  pamphlet  on  the  Cock-lane 
Ghost,  a  Life  of  Beau  Nash,  the  famous  Master  of  Ceremonies 
at  Bath,  &c. :  one  of  the  best  things  for  his  fame,  however,  was 
the  remodelling  and  republication  of  his  Chinese  Letters  under 
the  title  of  "  the  Citizen  of  the  World,"  a  work  which  has  long 
since  taken  its  merited  stand  among  the  classics  of  the  English 
language.  "  Few  works,"  it  has  been  observed  by  one  of  his 
biographers,  "  exhibit  a  nicer  perception,  or  more  delicate  de- 
lineation of  life  and  manners.  Wit,  humor,  and  sentiment, 
pervade  every  page ;  the  vices  and  follies  of  the  day  are  touched 
with  the  most  playful  and  diverting  satire  ;  and  English  charac- 
teristics, in  endless  variety,  are  hit  off  with  the  pencil  of  a 
master." 

In  seeking  materials  for  his  varied  views  of  life,  he  often 
mingled  in  strange  scenes  and  got  involved  in  whimsical  situa- 
tions. In  the  summer  of  1762  he  was  one  of  the  thousands  who 
went  to  see  the  Cherokee  chiefs,  whom  he  mentions  in  one  of  his 
writings.  The  Indians  made  their  appearance  in  grand  costume, 
hideously  painted  and  besmeared.  In  the  course  of  the  visit 
Goldsmith  made  one  of  the  chiefs  a  present,  who,  in  the  ecstasy 
of  his  gratitude,  gave  him  an  embrace  that  left  his  face  well 
bedaubed  with  oil  and  red  ochre. 

Towards  the  close  of  1762  he  removed  to  "  merry  Islington," 
then  a  country  village,  though  now  swallowed  up  in  omniverous 
London.  He  went  there  for  the  benefit  of  country  air,  his  health 
being  injured  by  literary  application  and  confinement,  and  to  be 
near  his  chief  employer,  Mr.  Newbery,  who  resided  in  the  Canon- 


142  V  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


bury  House.  In  this  neigliborhood  he  used  to  take  his  solitary 
rambles,  sometimes  extending  his  walks  to  the  gardens  of  the 
"  White  Conduit  House,"  so  famous  among  the  essayists  of  the 
last  century.  While  strolling  one  day  in  these  gardens,  he  met 
three  females  of  the  family  of  a  respectable  tradesman  to  whom 
he  was  under  some  obligation.  With  his  prompt  disposition  to 
oblige,  he  conducted  them  about  the  garden,  treated  them  to  tea, 
and  ran  up  a  bill  in  the  most  open-handed  manner  imaginable  ; 
it  was  only  when  he  came  to  pay  that  he  found  himself  in  one 
of  his  old  dilemmas — he  had  not  the  wherewithal  in  his  pocket. 
A  scene  of  perplexity  now  took  place  between  him  and  the 
waiter,  in  the  midst  of  which  came  up  some  of  his  acquaintances, 
in  whose  eyes  he  wished  to  stand  particularly  well.  This  com- 
pleted his  mortification.  There  was  no  concealing  the  awkward- 
ness of  his  position.  The  sneers  of  the  waiter  revealed  it.  His 
acquaintances  amused  themselves  for  some  time  at  his  expense, 
professing  their  inability  to  relieve  him.  When,  however,  they 
had  enjoyed  their  banter,  the  waiter  was  paid,  and  poor  Gold- 
smith enabled  to  convoy  off  the  ladies  with  flying  colors. 

Among  the  various  productions  thrown  off  by  him  for  the 
booksellers  during  this  growing  period  of  his  reputation,  was 
a  small  work  in  two  volumes,  entitled  "  the  History  of  En^x„ 
land,  in  a  series  of  Letters  from  a  Nobleman  to  his  Son."  It 
was  digested  from  Hume,  Rapin,  Carte,  and  "Elennet.  These 
authors  he  would  read  in  the  morning ;  make  a  few  notes  ; 
ramble  with  a  friend  into  the  country  about  the  skirts  of  "  merry 
Islington ;"  return  to  a  temperate  dinner  and  cheerful  evening  ; 
and,  before  going  to  bed,  write  off  what  had  arranged  itself  in 
his  head  from  the  studies  of  the  morning.  In  this  way  he  took 
a  more  general  view  of  the  subject,  and  wrote  in  a  more  free  and 


JAMES  BOSWELL.  143 


fluent  style  than  if  he  had  been  mousing  at  the  time  among 
authorities.  The  work,  like  many  others  written  by  him  in 
the  earlier  part  of  his  literary  career,  was  anonymous.  Some 
attributed  it  to  Lord  Chesterfield,  others  to  Lord  Orrery,  and 
others  to  Lord  Lyttleton.  The  latter  seemed  pleased  to  be  the 
putative  father,  and  never  disowned  the  bantling  thus  laid  at  his 
door ;  and  well  might  he  have  been  proud  to  be  considered  capa- 
ble of  producing  what  has  been  well-pronounced  "  the  most 
finished  and  elegant  summary  of  English  history  in  the  same 
compass  that  has  been  or  is  likely  to  be  written." 
^^^^The  reputation  of  Goldsmith,  it  will  be  perceived,  grew  ^ 
slowly ;  he  was  known  and  estimated  by  a  few  ;  but  he  had  not 
those  brilliant  though  fallacious  qualities  which  flash  upon  the 
public,  and  excite  loud  but  transient  applause.  His  works  were 
more  read  than  cited  ;  and  the  charm  of  style,  for  which  he  was 
especially  noted,  was  more  apt  to  be  felt  than  talked  about.  He 
used  often  to  repine,  in  a  half-humorous,  half-querulous  manner, 
at  his  tardiness  in  gaining  the  laurels  which  he  felt  to  be  his  due. 
"  The  public,"  he  would  exclaim,  '-will  never  do  me  justice  ;  when- 
ever I  write  any  thing,  they  make  a  point  to  know  nothing  about  it."  

About  the  beginning  of  1763  he  became  acquainted  with 
Boswell,  whose  literary  gossipings  were  destined  to  have  a  dele- 
terious eff"ect  upon  his  reputation.  Boswell  was  at  that  time  a 
young  man,  light,  buoyant,  pushing,  and  presumptuous.  He  had 
a  morbid  passion  for  mingling  in  the  society  of  men  noted  for 
wit  and  learning,  and  had  just  arrived  from  Scotland,  bent  upon 
making  his  way  into  the  literary  circles  of  the  metropolis.  An 
intimacy  with  Dr.  Johnson,  the  great  literary  luminary  of  the 
day,  was  the  crowning  object  of  his  aspiring  and  somewhat 
ludicrous  ambition.      He  expected  to  meet  him  at  a  dinner  to 


144  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


which  he  was  invited  at  Davies  the  bookseller's,  but  was  disap- 
pointed. Goldsmith  was  present,  but  he  was  not  as  yet  suffi- 
ciently renowned  to  excite  the  reverence  of  Boswell.  "  At  this 
time,"  says  he  in  his  notes,  "  I  think  he  had  published  nothing 
with  his  name,  though  it  was  pretty  generally  understood  that 
one  Dr.  Groldsmith  was  the  author  of  '  An  Inquiry  into  the 
Present  State  of  Polite  Learning  in  Europe,'  and  of  '  The 
Citizen  of  the  World,'  a  series  of  letters  supposed  to  be  written 
from  London,  by  a  Chinese." 

A  conversation  took  place  at  table  between  Goldsmith  and 
Mr.  Robert  Dodsley,  compiler  of  the  well-known  collection  of 
modern  poetry,  as  to  the  merits  of  the  current  poetry  of  the 
day.  Goldsmith  declared  there  was  none  of  superior  merit. 
Dodsley  cited  his  own  collection  in  proof  of  the  contrary.  "  It 
is  true,"  said  he,  "  we  can  boast  of  no  palaces  now-a-days,  like 
Dryden's  Ode  to  St.  Cecilia's  Day,  but  we  have  villages  composed 
of  very  pretty  houses."  Goldsmith,  however,  maintained  that 
there  was  nothing  above  mediocrity,  an  opinion  in  which  John- 
son, to  whom  it  was  repeated,  concurred,  and  with  reason,  for  the 
era  was  one  of  the  dead  levels  of  British  poetry. 

Boswell  has  made  no  note  of  this  conversation ;  he  was  an 
unitarian  in  his  literary  devotion,  and  disposed  to  worship  none 
but  Johnson.  Little  Davies  endeavored  to  console  him  for  his 
disappointment,  and  to  stay  the  stomach  of  his  curiosity,  by 
giving  him  imitations  of  the  great  lexicographer ;  mouthing  his 
words,  rolling  his  head,  and  assuming  as  ponderous  a  manner  as 
his  petty  person  would  permit.  Boswell  was  shortly  afterwards 
made  happy  by  an  introduction  to  Johnson,  of  whom  he  became 
the  obsequious  satellite.  From  him  he  likewise  imbibed  a  more 
favorable  opinion  of  Goldsmith's  merits,  though  he  was  fain  to 


JOHNSON  AND  GOLDSMITH.  145 


consider  them  derived  in  a  great  measure  from  his  Magnus 
Apollo.  "  He  had  sagacity  enough,"  says  he,  "  to  cultivate  assi- 
duously the  acquaintance  of  Johnson,  and  his  faculties  were 
gradually  enlarged  by  the  contemplation  of  such  a  model.  To 
me  and  many  others  it  appeared  that  he  studiously  copied  the 
manner  of  Johnson,  though,  indeed,  upon  a  smaller  scale."  So 
on  another  occasion  he  calls  him  "  one  of  the  brightest  ornaments 
of  the  Johnsonian  school."  "  His  respectful  attachment  to  John- 
son," adds  he,  "  was  then  at  its  height ;  for  his  own  literary 
reputation  had  not  yet  distinguished  him  so  much  as  to  excite  a 
vain  desire  of  competition  with  his  great  master." 

What  beautiful  instances  does  the  garrulous  Boswell  give  of 
the  goodness  of  heart  of  Johnson,  and  the  passing  homage  to  it 
by  Goldsmith.  They  were  speaking  of  a  Mr.  Levett,  long  an  in- 
mate of  Johnson's  house  and  a  dependent  on  his  bounty;  but 
who,  Boswell  thought,  must  be  an  irksome  charge  upon  him. 
"  He  is  poor  and  honest,"  said  Goldsmith,  "  which  is  recommen- 
dation enough  to  Johnson." 

Boswell  mentioned  another  person  of  a  very  bad  character, 
and  wondered  at  Johnson's  kindness  to  him.  "  He  is  now  be- 
come miserable,"  said  Goldsmith,  "and  that  insures  the  protec- 
tion of  Johnson."  Encomiums  like  these  speak  almost  as  much 
for  the  heart  of  him  who  praises  as  of  him  who  is  praised. 

Subsequently,  when  Boswell  had  become  more  intense  in  his 
literary  idolatry,  he  affected  to  undervalue  Goldsmith,  and  a 
lurking  hostility  to  him  is  discernible  throughout  his  writings, 
which  some  have  attributed  to  a  silly  spirit  of  jealousy  of  the 
superior  esteem  evinced  for  the  poet  by  Dr.  Johnson.  We  have 
a  gleam  of  this  in  his  account  of  the  first  evening  he  spent  in 
company  with  those  two  eminent  authors  at  their  famous  resort, 

7 


346  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


the  Mitre  Tavern,  in  Fleet-street.  This  took  place  on  the  1st  of 
July,  1763.  The  trio  supped  together,  and  passed  some  time  in 
literary  conversation.  On  quitting  the  tavern,  Johnson,  who  had 
now  been  sociably  acquainted  with  Goldsmith  for  two  years,  and 
knew  his  merits,  took  him  with  him  to  drink  tea  with  his  blind 
pensioner.  Miss  Williams  ;  a  high  privilege  among  his  intimates 
and  admirers.  To  Boswell,  a  recent  acquaintance,  whose  intru- 
sive sycophancy  had  not  yet  made  its  way  into  his  confidential 
intimacy,  he  gave  no  invitation.  Boswell  felt  it  with  all  the 
jealousy  of  a  little  mind.  "  Dr.  Goldsmith,"  says  he,  in  his  me- 
moirs, "  being  a  privileged  man,  went  with  him,  strutting  away, 
and  calling  to  me  with  an  air  of  superiority,  like  that  of  an  esote- 
ric over  an  exoteric  disciple  of  a  sage  of  antiquity,  '  I  go  to  Miss 
Williams.'  I  confess  I  then  envied  him  this  mighty  privilege,  of 
which  he  seemed  to  be  so  proud ;  but  it  was  not  long  before  I 
obtained  the  same  mark  of  distinction." 

Obtained  !  but  how  ?  not  like  Goldsmith,  by  the  force  of  unpre- 
tending but  congenial  merit,  but  by  a  course  of  the  most  push- 
ing, contriving,  and  spaniel-like  subserviency.  Really,  the  ambi- 
tion of  the  man  to  illustrate  his  mental  insignificance,  by  con- 
tinually placing  himself  in  juxtaposition  with  the  great  lexi- 
cographer, has  something  in  it  perfectly  ludicrous.  Never, 
since  the  days  of  Don  Quixote  and  Sancho  Panza,  has  there  been 
presented  to  the  world  a  more  whimsically  contrasted  pair  of  as- 
sociates than  Johnson  and  Boswell. 

"Who  is  this  Scotch  cur  at  Johnson's  heels?"  asked  some 
one  when  Boswell  had  worked  his  way  into  incessant  companion- 
ship. "  He  is  not  a  cur."  replied  Goldsmith,  "  you  are  too 
severe  ;  he  is  only  a  bur.  Tom  Davies  flung  him  at  Johnson  in 
sport,  and  he  has  the  faculty  of  sticking." 


HOGARTH'S  VISIT  AT  ISLINGTON.  147 


CHAPTER  XIV.  '*'' 


Hogarth  a  visitor  at  Islington — ^his  character. — Street  studies. — Sympathies 
between  authors  and  painters — Sir  Joshua  Reynolds — his  character^his 
dinners. — The  Literary  Club — its  members. — Johnson's  revels  with  Lanky 
and  Beau. — Goldsmith  at  the  club. 

Among  the  intimates  who  used  to  visit  the  poet  occasionally  in 
his  retreat  at  Islington,  v^as  Hogarth  the  painter.  Goldsmith 
had  spoken  well  of  him  in  his  essays  in  the  Public  Ledger,  and 
this  formed  the  first  link  in  their  friendship.  He  was  at  this 
time  upwards  of  sixty  years  of  age,  and  is  described  as  a  stout, 
active,  bustling  little  man,  in  a  sky-blue  coat,  satirical  and  dogma- 
tic, yet  full  of  real  benevolence  and  the  love  of  human  nature. 
He  was  the  moralist  and  philosopher  of  the  pencil ;  like  Gold- 
smith he  had  sounded  the  depths  of  vice  and  misery,  without 
being  polluted  by  them  ;  and  though  his  picturings  had  not 
the  pervading  amenity  of  those  of  the  essayist,  and  dwelt 
more  on  the  crimes  and  vices  than  the  follies  and  humors  of  man- 
kind, yet  they  were  all  calculated,  in  like  manner,  to  fill  the  mind 
with  instruction  and  precept,  and  to  make  the  heart  better. 

Hogarth  does  not  appear  to  have  had  much  of  the  rural  feel- 
ing with  which  Goldsmith  was  so  amply  endowed,  and  may  not 
have  accompanied  him  in  his  strolls  about  hedges  and  green 
lanes ;  but  he  was  a  fit  companion  with  whom  to  explore  the 


148  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


mazes  of  London,  in  which  he  was  continually  on  the  look-out  for 
character  and  incident.  One  of  Hogarth's  admirers  speaks  of 
having  come  upon  him  in  Castle-street,  engaged  in  one  of  his 
street  studies,  watching  two  boys  who  were  quarrelling ;  patting 
one  on  the  back  who  flinched,  and  endeavoring  to  spirit  him  up 
to  a  fresh  encounter.  "  At  him  again  !  D —  him,  if  I  would 
take  it  of  him  !  at  him  again  !" 

A  frail  memorial  of  this  intimacy  between  the  painter  and 
the  poet  exists  in  a  portrait  in  oil,  called  '  Goldsmith's  Hostess.' 
It  is  supposed  to  have  been  painted  by  Hogarth  in  the  course  of 
his  visits  to  Islington,  and  given  by  him  to  the  poet  as  a  means 
of  paying  his  landlady.  There  are  no  friendships  among  men  of 
talents  more  likely  to  be  sincere  than  those  between  painters  and 
poets.  Possessed  of  the  same  qualities  of  mind,  governed  by  the 
same  principles  of  taste  and  natural  laws  of  grace  and  beauty, 
but  applying  them  to  different  yet  mutually  illustrative  arts,  they 
are  constantly  in  sympathy,  and  never  in  collision  with  each 
other. 

A  still  more  congenial  intimacy  of  the  kind  was  that  con- 
tracted by  Goldsmith  with  Mr.  afterwards  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 
The  latter  was  now  about  forty  years  of  age,  a  few  years  older 
than  the  poet,  whom  he  charmed  by  the  blandness  and  benignity 
of  his  manners,  and  the  nobleness  and  generosity  of  his  disposi- 
tion, as  much  as  he  did  by  the  graces  of  his  pencil  and  the 
magic  of  his  coloring.  They  were  men  of  kindred  genius,  excel- 
ling in  corresponding  qualities  of  their  several  arts,  for  style  in 
writing  is  what  color  is  in  painting  ;  both  are  innate  endow- 
ments, and  equally  magical  in  their  effects.  Certain  graces  and 
harmonies  of  both  may  be  acquired  by  diligent  study  and  imita- 
tion, but  only  in  a  limited  degree  ;  whereas  by  their  natural 


SIR  JOSHUA  REYNW4pSj^  *  149 


possessors  they  are  exercised  spontaneously,  almost  unconscious- 
ly, and  with  ever-varying  fascination.  Reynolds  soon  under- 
stood and  appreciated  the  merits  of  Groldsmith,  and  a  sincere 
and  lasting  friendship  ensued  between  them. 

At  Reynolds's  house  Goldsmith  mingled  in  a  higher  range  of 
company  than  he  had  been  accustomed  to.  The  fame  of  this 
celebrated  artist,  and  his  amenity  of  manners,  were  gathering 
round  him  men  of  talents  of  all  kinds,  and  the  increasing  afflu- 
ence of  his  circumstances  enabled  him  to  give  full  indulgence  to 
his  hospitable  disposition.  Poor  Goldsmith  had  not  yet,  like 
Dr.  Johnson,  acquired  reputation  enough  to  atone  for  his  exter- 
nal defects  and  his  want  of  the  air  of  good  society.  Miss  Rey- 
nolds used  to  inveigh  against  his  personal  appearance,  which  gave 
her  the  idea,  she  said,  of  a  low  mechanic,  a  journeyman  tailor. 
One  evening  at  a  large  supper  party,  being  called  upon  to  give 
as  a  toast,  the  ugliest  man  she  knew,  she  gave  Dr.  Goldsmith, 
upon  which  a  lady  who  sat  opposite,  and  whom  she  had  never 
met  before,  shook  hands  with  her  across  the  table,  and  "  hoped 
to  become  better  acquainted." 

We  have  a  graphic  and  amusing  picture  of  Reynolds's  hos- 
pitable but  motley  establishment,  in  an  account  given  by  a  Mr. 
Courtenay  to  Sir  James  Mackintosh ;  though  it  speaks  of  a  time 
after  Reynolds  had  received  the  honor  of  knighthood.  "  There 
was  something  singular,"  said  he,  "  in  the  style  and  economy  of 
Sir  Joshua's  table  that  contributed  to  pleasantry  and  good- 
hamor,  a  coarse,  inelegant  plenty,  without  any  regard  to  order 
and  arrangement.  At  five  o'clock  precisely,  dinner  was  served, 
whether  all  the  invited  guests  were  arrived  or  not.  Sir  Joshua 
was  never  so  fashionably  ill-bred  as  to  wait  an  hour  perhaps  for 


^ 


150  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


two  or  three  persons  of  rank  or  title,  and  put  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany out  of  humor  by  this  invidious  distinction.  His  invita- 
tions, however,  did  not  regulate  the  number  of  his  guests.  Many 
dropped  in  uninvited.  A  table  prepared  for  seven  or  eight  was 
often  compelled  to  contain  fifteen  or  sixteen.  There  was  a  con- 
sequent deficiency  of  knives,  forks,  plates,  and  glasses.  The 
attendance  was  in  the  same  style,  and  those  who  were  knowing 
in  the  ways  of  the  house  took  care  on  sitting  down  to  call 
instantly  for  beer,  bread  or  wine,  that  they  might  secure  a 
supply  before  the  first  course  was  over.  He  was  once  prevailed 
on  to  furnish  the  table  with  decanters  and  glasses  at  dinner,  to 
save  time  and  prevent  confusion.  These  gradually  were  de- 
molished in  the  course  of  service,  and  were  never  replaced. 
These  trifling  embarrassments,  however,  only  served  to  enhance 
the  hilarity  and  singular  pleasure  of  the  entertainment.  The 
wine,  cookery  and  dishes  were  but  little  attended  to ;  nor  was 
the  fish  or  venison  ever  talked  of  or  recommended.  Amidst  this 
convivial  animated  bustle  among  his  guests,  our  host  sat  per- 
fectly composed  ;  always  attentive  to  what  was  said,  never  mind- 
ing what  was  ate  or  drank,  but  left  every  one  at  perfect  liberty 
to  scramble  for  himself." 

Out  of  the  casual  but  frequent  meeting  of  men  of  talent  at 
this  hospitable  board  rose  that  association  of  wdts,  authors, 
scholars,  and  statesmen,  renowned  as  the  Literary  Club.  Rey- 
nolds was  the  first  to  propose  a  regular  association  of  the  kind, 
and  was  eagerly  seconded  by  Johnson,  who  proposed  as  a  model 
a  club  which  he  had  formed  many  years  previously  in  Ivy  Lane, 
but  which  was  now  extinct.  Like  that  club  the  number  of  mem- 
bers was  limited  to  nine.     They  were  to  meet  and  sup  together 


THE  LITERARY  CLUB.  151 


once  a  week,  on  Monday  niglit,  at  the  Turk's  Head  on  Gerard- 
street,  Solio,  and  two  members  were  to  constitute  a  meeting.  It 
took  a  regular  form  in  the  year  1764,  but  did  not  receive  its 
literary  appellation  until  several  years  afterwards. 

The  original  members  were  Reynolds,  Johnson,  Burke,  Dr. 
Nugent,  Bennet  Langton,  Topham  Beauclerc,  Chamier,  Hawkins, 
and  Goldsmith ;  and  here  a  few  words  concerning  some  of  the 
members  may  be  acceptable.  Burke  was  at  that  time  about 
thirty-three  years  of  age :  he  had  mingled  a  little  in  politics  and 
been  Under  Secretary  to  Hamilton  at  Dublin,  but  was  again  a 
writer  for  the  booksellers,  and  as  yet  but  in  the  dawning  of  his 
fame.  Dr.  Nugent  was  his  father-in-law,  a  Boman  Catholic,  and 
a  physician  of  talent  and  instruction.  Mr.  afterwards  Sir  John 
Hawkins  was  admitted  into  this  association  from  having  been  a 
member  of  Johnson's  Ivy  Lane  club.  Originally  an  attorney, 
he  had  retired  from  the  practice  of  the  law,  in  consequence  of  a 
large  fortune  which  fell  to  him  in  right  of  his  wife,  and  was  now 
a  Middlesex  magistrate.  He  was,  moreover,  a  dabbler  in  litera- 
ture and  music,  and  was  actually  engaged  on  a  history  of  music, 
which  he  subsequently  published  in  five  ponderous  volumes.  To 
him  we  are  also  indebted  for  a  biography  of  Johnson,  which 
appeared  after  the  death  of  that  eminent  man.  Hawkins  was  as 
mean  and  parsimonious  as  he  was  pompous  and  conceited.  He 
forbore  to  partake  of  the  suppers  at  the  club,  and  begged  there- 
fore to  be  excused  from  paying  his  share  of  the  reckoning. 
"  And  was  he  excused  ?"  asked  Dr.  Burney  of  Johnson.  "  Oh 
yes,  for  no  man  is  angry  at  another  for  being  inferior  to  himself 
We  all  scorned  him  and  admitted  his  plea.  Yet  I  really  believe 
him  to  be  an  honest  man  at  bottom,  though  to  be  sure  he  is  penu- 
rious, and  he  is  mean,  and  it  must  be  owned  he  has  a  tendency 


152  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


to  savageness."  He  did  not  remain  above  two  or  three  years  in 
the  club ;  being  in  a  manner  elbowed  out  in  consequence  of  his 
rudeness  to  Burke. 

Mr.  Anthony  Chamier  was  Secretary  in  the  war  office,  and 
a  friend  of  Beauclerc,  by  whom  he  was  proposed.  We  have  left 
our  mention  of  Bennet  Langton  and  Topham  Beauclerc  until  the 
last,  because  we  have  most  to  say  about  them.  They  were  doubt- 
less induced  to  join  the  club  through  their  devotion  to  Johnson, 
and  the  intimacy  of  these  two  very  young  and  aristocratic 
young  men  with  the  stern  and  somewhat  melancholy  moralist  is 
among  the  curiosities  of  literature. 

Bennet  Langton  was  of  an  ancient  family,  who  held  their 
ancestral  estate  of  Langton  in  Lincolnshire,  a  great  title  to 
respect  with  Johnson.  "  Langton,  sir,"  he  would  say,  "  has  a 
grant  of  free-warren  from  Henry  the  Second;  and  Cardinal 
Stephen  Langton,  in  King  John's  reign,  was  of  this  family." 

Langton  was  of  a  mild,  contemplative,  enthusiastic  nature. 
When  but  eighteen  years  of  age  he  was  so  delighted  with  read- 
ing Johnson's  Rambler,  that  he  came  to  London  chiefly  with  a 
view  to  obtain  an  introduction  to  the  author.  Boswell  gives  us 
an  account  of  his  first  interview,  which  took  place  in  the  morning. 
It  is  not  often  that  the  personal  appearance  of  an  author  agrees 
with  the  preconceived  ideas  of  his  admirer.  Langton,  from 
perusing  the  writings  of  Johnson,  expected  to  find  him  a  decent, 
well  dressed,  in  short  a  remarkably  decorous  philosopher.  Instead 
of  which,  down  from  his  bedchamber  about  noon,  came,  as  newly 
risen,  a  large  uncouth  figure,  with  a  little  dark  wig  which  scarcely 
covered  his  head,  and  his  clothes  hanging  loose  about  him.  But 
his  conversation  was  so  rich,  so  animated,  and  so  forcible,  and 
his  religious  and  political  notions  so  congenial  with  those  in 


LANGTON  AND  BEAUCLERC.  153 


which  Langton  had  been  educated,  that  he  conceived  for  him 
that  veneration  and  attachment  which  he  ever  preserved. 

Langton  went  to  pursue  his  studies  at  Trinity  College,  Ox- 
ford, where  Johnson  saw  much  of  him  during  a  visit  which  he 
paid  to  the  University.  He  found  him  in  close  intimacy  with 
Topham  Beauclerc,  a  youth  two  years  older  than  himself,  very 
gay  and  dissipated,  and  wondered  what  sympathies  could  draw  two 
young  men  together  of  such  opposite  characters.  On  becoming 
acquainted  with  Beauclerc  he  found  that,  rake  though  he  was, 
he  possessed  an  ardent  love  of  literature,  an  acute  understand- 
ing, polished  wit,  innate  gentility  and  high  aristocratic  breeding. 
He  was,  moreover,  the  only  son  of  Lord  Sidney  Beauclerc  and 
grandson  of  the  Duke  of  St.  Albans,  and  was  thought  in  some 
particulars  to  have  a  resemblance  to  Charles  the  Second.  These 
were  high  recommendations  with  Johnson,  and  when  the  youth 
testified  a  profound  respect  for  him  and  an  ardent  admiration  of 
his  talents  the  conquest  was  complete,  so  that  in  a  "  short  time," 
says  Boswell,  "  the  moral  pious  Johnson  and  the  gay  dissipated 
Beauclerc  were  companions." 

The  intimacy  begun  in  college  chambers  was  continued  when 
the  youths  came  to  town  during  the  vacations.  The  uncouth, 
unwieldy  moralist,  was  flattered  at  finding  himself  an  object  of 
idolatry  to  two  high-born,  high-bred,  aristocratic  young  men,  and 
throwing  gravity  aside,  was  ready  to  join  in  their  vagaries  and 
play  the  part  of  a  •  young  man  upon  town.'  Such  at  least  is  the 
picture  given  of  him  by  Boswell  on  one  occasion  when  Beauclerc 
and  Langton  having  supped  together  at  a  tavern  determined  to 
give  Johnson  a  rouse  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  They 
accordingly  rapped  violently  at  the  door  of  his  chambers  in  the 
Temple.     The  indignant  sage  sallied  forth  in  his  shirt,  poker  in 

7* 


154  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


hand,  and  a  little  black  wig  on  the  top  of  his  head,  instead  of 
helmet ;  prepared  to  wreak  vengeance  on  the  assailants  of  his 
castle :  but  when  his  two  young  friends,  Laiikey  and  Beau,  as  he 
used  to  call  them,  presented  themselves,  summoning  him 
forth  to  a  morning  ramble,  his  whole  manner  changed.  "  What, 
is  it  you,  ye  dogs  ?"  cried  he.  "  Faith,  I'll  have  a  frisk  with 
you !" 

So  said  so  done.  They  sallied  forth  together  into  Covent- 
Garden ;  figured  among  the  green  grocers  and  fruit  women,  just 
come  in  from  the  country  with  their  hampers ;  repaired  to  a 
neighboring  tavern,  where  Johnson  brewed  a  bowl  of  bishop,  a 
favorite  beverage  with  him,  grew  merry  over  his  cups,  and  ana- 
thematized sleep  in  two  lines,  from  Lord  Lansdowne's  drinking 
song: 

"  Short,  very  short,  be  then  thy  reign. 
For  I'm  in  haste  to  laugh  and  drink  again." 

They  then  took  boat  again,  rowed  to  Billingsgate,  and  Johnson 
and  Beauclerc  determined,  like  "  mad  wags,"  to  "  keep  it  up"  for 
the  rest  of  the  day.  Langton,  however,  the  most  sober-minded 
of  the  three,  pleaded  an  engagement  to  breakfast  with  some  young 
ladies  ;  whereupon  the  great  moralist  reproached  him  with  "  leav- 
ing his  social  friends  to  go  and  sit  with  a  set  of  wretched  un-ideal 
girls." 

This  madcap  freak  of  the  great  lexicographer  made  a  sensa- 
tion, as  may  well  be  supposed,  among  his  intimates.  "  I  heard 
of  your  frolic  t'other  night,"  said  Garrick  to  him ;  ''  you'll  be  in 
the  Chronicle."  He  uttered  worse  forebodings  to  others.  "  I 
shall  have  my  old  friend  to  bail  out  of  the  round-house,"  said  he. 
Johnson,  however,  valued  himself  upon  having  thus  enacted  a 
chapter  in  the  Rake's  Progress,  and  crowed  over  Garrick  on  the 


LANGTON  AND  BEAUCLERC,  155 


occasion.     "  He  durst  not  do  such  a  thing  !"  chuckled  he,  "  his 
tvife  would  not  let  him  !" 

When  these  two  young  men  entered  the  club,  Langton  was 
about  twenty-two,  and  Beauclerc  about  twenty -four  years  of  age, 
and  both  were  launched  on  London  life.  Langton,  however,  was 
still  the  mild,  enthusiastic  scholar,  steeped  to  the  lips  in  Greek, 
with  fine  conversational  powers,  and  an  invaluable  talent  for 
listening.  He  was  upwards  of  six  feet  high,  and  very  spare. 
"  Oh !  that  we  could  sketch  him,"  exclaims  Miss  Hawkins,  in 
her  Memoirs,  "  with  his  mild  countenance,  his  elegant  features, 
and  his  sweet  smile,  sitting  with  one  leg  twisted  round  the  other, 
as  if  fearing  to  occupy  more  space  than  was  equitable ;  his  per- 
son inclining  forward,  as  if  wanting  strength  to  support  his  weight, 
and  his  arms  crossed  over  his  bosom,  or  his  hands  locked  toge- 
ther on  his  knee."  Beauclerc,  on  such  occasions,  sportively  com- 
pared him  to  a  stork  in  Raphael's  Cartoons,  standing  on  one  leg. 
Beauclerc  was  more  a  "  man  upon  town,"  a  lounger  in  St.  James's 
Street,  an  associate  with  George  Selwyn,  with  Walpole,  and  other 
aristocratic  wits  ;  a  man  of  fashion  at  court ;  a  casual  frequenter 
of  the  gaming-table  ;  yet,  with  all  this,  he  alternated  in  the  easiest 
ftnd  happiest  manner  the  scholar  and  the  man  of  letters  ;  lounged 
into  the  club  with  the  most  perfect  self-possession,  bringing  with 
him  the  careless  grace  and  polished  wit  of  high-bred  society,  but 
aiaking  himself  cordially  at  home  among  his  learned  fellow 
members. 

The  gay  yet  lettered  rake  maintained  his  sway  over  Johnson, 
who  was  fascinated  by  that  air  of  the  world,  that  ineffable  tone 
of  good  society  in  which  he  felt  himself  deficient,  especially  as 
the  possessor  of  it  always  paid  homage  to  his  superior  talent. 
"  Bea-uclerc,"  he  would  say,  using  a  quotation  from  Pope,  "  has  a 


156  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


love  of  folly,  but  a  scorn  of  fools ;  every  thing  he  does  shows  the 
one,  and  every  thing  he  says  the  other."  Beauclerc  delighted  in 
rallying  the  stern  moralist  of  whom  others  stood  in  awe,  and  no 
one,  according  to  Boswell,  could  take  equal  liberty  with  him  with 
impunity.  Johnson,  it  is  well  known,  was  often  shabby  and  neg- 
ligent in  his  dress,  and  not  over  cleanly  in  his  person.  On  re- 
ceiving a  pension  from  the  crown,  his  friends  vied  with  each  other 
in  respectful  congratulations.  Beauclerc  simply  scanned  his  per- 
son with  a  whimsical  glance,  and  hoped  that,  like  Falstaff,  "  he'd 
in  future  purge  and  live  cleanly  like  a  gentleman."  Johnson 
took  the  hint  with  unexpected  good  humor,  and  profited  by  it. 

Still  Beauclerc's  satirical  vein,  which  darted  shafts  on  every 
side,  was  not  always  tolerated  by  Johnson.  "  Sir,"  said  he  on 
one  occasion,  "  you  never  open  your  mouth  but  with  intention  to 
give  pain ;  and  you  have  often  given  me  pain,  not  from  the  power 
of  what  you  have  said,  but  from  seeing  your  intention." 

When  it  was  at  first  proposed  to  enroll  Goldsmith  among  the 
members  of  this  association,  there  seems  to  have  been  some  de- 
mur ;  at  least  so  says  the  pompous  Hawkins.  "  As  he  wrote  for 
the  booksellers,  we  of  the  club  looked  on  him  as  a  mere  literary 
drudge,  equal  to  the  task  of  compiling  and  translating,  but  little 
capable  of  original  and  still  less  of  poetical  composition." 

Even  for  some  time  after  his  admission,  he  continued  to  be 
regarded  in  a  dubious  light  by  some  of  the  members.  Johnson 
and  Reynolds,  of  course,  were  well  aware  of  his  merits,  nor  was 
Burke  a  stranger  to  them ;  but  to  the  others  he  was  as  yet  a 
sealed  book,  and  the  outside  was  not  prepossessing.  His  un- 
gainly person  and  awkward  manners  were  against  him  with  men 
accustomed  to  the  graces  of  society,  and  he  was  not  sufiiciently  at 
home  to  give  play  to  his  humor  and  to  that  bonhommie  which 


SATIRICAL  SUPERVISION.  157 


won  the  hearts  of  all  who  knew  him.  He  felt  strange  and  out 
of  place  in  this  new  sphere ;  he  felt  at  times  the  cool  satirical 
eye  of  the  courtly  Beauclerc  scanning  him,  and  the  more  he  at- 
tempted to  appear  at  his  ease,  the  more  awkward  he  became. 


158  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Johnson  a  monitor  to  Goldsmith — finds  him  in  distress  with  his  landlady — 
relieved  by  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield. — The  oratorio. — Poem  of  the  Travel- 
ler.— The  poet  and  his  dog. — Success  of  the  poem. — Astonishment  of  the 
club. — Observations  on  the  poem. 

Johnson  had  now  become  one  of  Goldsmitli's  best  friends  and 
advisers.  He  knew  all  the  weak  points  of  his  character,  but  he 
knew  also  his  merits  ;  and  while  he  would  rebuke  him  like  a  child, 
and  rail  at  his  errors  and  follies,  he  would  suffer  no  one  else  to 
undervalue  him.  Goldsmith  knew  the  soundness  of  his  judgment 
and  his  practical  benevolence,  and  often  sought  his  counsel  and 
aid  amid  the  difficulties  into  which  his  heedlessness  was  continu- 
ally plunging  him. 

"  I  received  one  morning,"  says  Johnson,  "  a  message  from 
poor  Goldsmith  that  he  was  in  great  distress,  and,  as  it  was  not 
in  his  power  to  come  to  me,  begging  that  I  would  come  to  him 
as  soon  as  possible.  I  sent  him  a  guinea,  and  promised  to  come 
to  him  directly.  I  accordingly  went  as  soon  as  I  was  dressed, 
and  found  that  his  landlady  had  arrested  him  for  his  rent,  at 
which  he  was  in  a  violent  passion :  I  perceived  that  he  had 
already  changed  my  guinea,  and  had  a  bottle  of  Madeira  and  a 
glass  before  him.     I  put  the  cork  into  the  bottle,  desired  he 


THE  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  159 


would  be  calm,  and  began  to  talk  to  him  of  the  means  by  which 
he  might  be  extricated.  He  then  told  me  he  had  a  novel  ready 
for  the  press,  which  he  produced  to  me.  I  looked  into  it  and 
gaw  its  merit ;  told  the  landlady  I  should  soon  return ;  and, 
having  gone  to  a  bookseller,  sold  it  for  sixty  pounds.  I  brought 
G^oldsmith  the  money,  and  he  discharged  his  rent,  not  without 
rating  his  landlady  in  a  high  tone  for  having  used  him  so  ill." 

The  novel  in  question  was  the  "  Vicar  of  Wakefield :"  the 
bookseller  to  whom  Johnson  sold  it  was  Francis  Newbery, 
nephew  to  John.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  captivating  work, 
which  has  obtained  and  preserved  an  almost  unrivalled  popularity 
in  various  languages,  was  so  little  appreciated  by  the  bookseller, 
that  he  kept  it  by  him  for  nearly  two  years  unpublished ! 

Goldsmith  had,  as  yet,  produced  nothing  of  moment  in  po- 
etry. Among  his  literary  jobs,  it  is  true,  was  an  Oratorio  entitled 
"  The  Captivity,"  founded  on  the  bondage  of  the  Israelites  in 
Babylon.  It  was  one  of  those  unhappy  offsprings  of  the  muse 
ushered  into  existence  amid  the  distortions  of  music.  Most  of 
the  Oratorio  has  passed  into  oblivion ;  but  the  following  song 
from  it  will  never  die. 

The  wretch  condemned  from  Ufe  to  part. 

Still,  still  on  hope  relies, 
And  every  pang  that  rends  the  heart 

Bids  expectation  rise. 

Hope,  like  the  glimmering  taper's  light, 

Illumes  and  cheers  our  way  ; 
And  still,  as  darker  grows  the  night. 

Emits  a  brighter  ray. 


160  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


Goldsmith  distrusted  his  qualifications  to  succeed  in  poetry, 
and  doubted  the  disposition  of  the  public  mind  in  regard  to  it. 
"  I  fear,'  said  he,  "  I  have  come  too  late  into  the  world ;  Pope 
and  other  poets  have  taken  up  the  places  in  the  temple  of  Fame ; 
and  as  few  at  any  period  can  possess  poetical  reputation,  a  man 
of  genius  can  now  hardly  acquire  it."  Again,  on  another  occa- 
sion, he  observes :  "  Of  all  kinds  of  ambition,  as  things  are  now 
circumstanced,  perhaps  that  which  pursues  poetical  fame  is  the 
wildest.  What  from  the  increased  refinement  of  the  times,  from 
the  diversity  of  judgment  produced  by  opposing  systems  of  criti- 
cism, and  from  the  more  prevalent  divisions  of  opinion  influenced 
by  party,  the  strongest  and  happiest  efforts  can  expect  to  please 
but  in  a  very  narrow  circle." 

At  this  very  time  he  had  by  him  his  poem  of  "  The  Travel- 
ler." The  plan  of  it,  as  has  already  been  observed,  was  conceived 
many  years  before,  during  his  travels  in  Switzerland,  and  a 
sketch  of  it  sent  from  that  country  to  his  brother  Henry  in  Ire- 
land. The  original  outline  is  said  to  have  embraced  a  wider 
scope ;  but  it  was  probably  contracted  through  difiidence,  in  the 
process  of  finishing  the  parts.  It  had  laid  by  him  for  several 
years  in  a  crude  state,  and  it  was  with  extreme  hesitation  and 
after  much  revision  that  he  at  length  submitted  it  to  Dr.  John- 
son. The  frank  and  warm  approbation  of  the  latter  encouraged 
him  to  finish  it  for  the  press ;  and  Dr.  Johnson  himself  contri- 
buted a  few  lines  towards  the  conclusion. 

We  hear  much  about  "  poetic  inspiration,"  and  the  "  poet's 
eye  in  a  fine  phrensy  rolling ;"  but  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  gives 
an  anecdote  of  Goldsmith  while  engaged  upon  his  poem,  calcu- 
lated to  cure  our  notions  about  the  ardor  of  composition.     Call- 


THE  POET  AND  HIS  DOG.  I6l 


ing  upon  the  poet  one  day,  he  opened  the  door  without  ceremony, 
and  found  him  in  the  double  occupation  of  turning  a  couplet  and 
teaching  a  pet  dog  to  sit  upon  his  haunches.  At  one  time  he 
would  glance  his  eye  at  his  desk,  and  at  another  shake  his  finger 
at  the  dog  to  make  him  retain  his  position.  The  last  lines  on 
the  page  were  still  wet ;  they  form  a  part  of  the  description  of 
Italy : 

"  By  sports  like  these  are  all  their  cares  beguiled. 
The  sports  of  children  satisfy  the  child." 

Goldsmith,  with  his  usual  good-humor,  joined  in  the  laugh  caused 
by  his  whimsical  employment,  and  acknowledged  that  his  boyish 
sport  with  the  dog  suggested  the  stanza. 

The  poem  was  published  on  the  19th  of  December,  1764,  in 
a  quarto  form,  by  Newbery,  and  was  the  first  of  his  works  to 
which  Goldsmith  prefixed  his  name.  As  a  testimony  of  cherished 
and  well-merited  afi'ection,  he  dedicated  it  to  his  brother  Henry. 
There  is  an  amusing  aff"ectation  of  indifi'erence  as  to  its  fate  ex- 
pressed in  the  dedication.  "  What  reception  a  poem  may  find," 
says  he,  "which  has  neither  abuse,  party,  nor  blank  verse  to 
support  it,  T  cannot  tell,  nor  am  I  solicitous  to  know."  The 
truth  is,  no  one  was  more  emulous  and  anxious  for  poetic  fame ; 
and  never  was  he  more  anxious  than  in  the  present  instance,  for 
it  was  his  grand  stake.  Dr.  Johnson  aided  the  launching  of  the 
poem  by  a  favorable  notice  in  the  Critical  Review ;  other  peri- 
odical works  came  out  in  its  favor.  Some  of  the  author's  friends 
complained  that  it  did  not  command  instant  and  wide  popular- 
ity ;  that  it  was  a  poem  to  win,  not  to  strike :  it  went  on  rapidly 
increasing  in  favor  ;  in  three  months  a  second  edition  was  issued  ; 


162  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


shortly  afterwards,  a  tliird  ;  then  a  fourth ;  and,  before  the  year 
was  out,  the  author  was  pronounced  the  best  poet  of  his  time. 

The  appearance  of  "The  Traveller"  at  once  altered  Gold- 
smith's intellectual  standing  in  the  estimation  of  society  ;  but  its 
effect  upon  the  club,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  account  given  by 
Hawkins,  was  most  ludicrous.  They  were  lost  in  astonishment 
that  a  "newspaper  essayist"  and  "bookseller's  drudge"  should 
have  written  such  a  poem.  On  the  evening  of  its  announcement 
to  them  Goldsmith  had  gone  away  early,  after  "  rattling  away  as 
usual,"  and  they  knew  not  how  to  reconcile  his  heedless  garrulity 
with  the  serene  beauty,  the  easy  grace,  the  sound  good  sense, 
and  the  occasional  elevation  of  his  poetry.  They  could  scarcely 
believe  that  such  magic  numbers  had  flowed  from  a  man  to  whom 
in  general,  says  Johnson,  "  it  was  with  difficulty  they  could  give 
a  hearing."  "  Well,"  exclaimed  Chamier,  "  I  do  believe  he  wrote 
this  poem  himself,  and  let  me  tell  you,  that  is  believing  a  great 
deal." 

At  the  next  meeting  of  the  club,  Chamier  sounded  the  au- 
thor  a  little  about  his  poem.  "  Mr.  Goldsmith,"  said  he,  "  what 
do  you  mean  by  the  last  word  in  the  first  line  of  your  Traveller, 
'  remote,  unfriended,  solitary,  sloiv  V  do  you  mean  tardiness  of 
locomotion  ?" — "  Yes,"  replied  Goldsmith,  inconsiderately,  being 
probably  flurried  at  the  moment.  "  No,  sir,"  interposed  his 
protecting  friend  Johnson,  "  you  did  not  mean  tardiness  of  loco- 
motion ;  you  meant  that  sluggishness  of  mind  which  comes  upon 
a  man  in  solitude." — "Ah,"  exclaimed  Goldsmith,  ^'-that  was 
what  I  meant."  Chamier  immediately  believed  that  Johnson 
himself  had  written  the  line,  and  a  rumor  became  prevalent  that 
he  was  the  author  of  many  of  the  finest  passages.     This  was 


CRITICAL  GOSSIP.  163 


ultimately  set  at  rest  by  Johnson  himself,  who  marked  with  a 
pencil  all  the  verses  he  had  contributed,  nine  in  number,  inserted 
towards  the  conclusion,  and  by  no  means  the  best  in  the  poem. 
He  moreover,  with  generous  warmth,  pronounced  it  the  finest 
poem  that  had  appeared  since  the  days  of  Pope. 

But  one  of  the  highest  testimonials  to  the  charm  of  the  poem 
was  given  by  Miss  Reynolds,  who  had  toasted  poor  Groldsmith  as 
the  ugliest  man  of  her  acquaintance.  Shortly  after  the  appear- 
ance of  "  The  Traveller,"  Dr.  Johnson  read  it  aloud  from  begin- 
ning to  end  in  her  presence.  "  Well,"  exclaimed  she,  when  he 
had  finished,  "  I  never  more  shall  think  Dr.  Goldsmith  ugly  !" 

On  another  occasion,  when  the  merits  of  "  The  Traveller" 
were  discussed  at  Reynolds's  board,  Langton  declared  "there  was 
not  a  bad  line  in  the  poem,  not  one  of  Dryden's  careless  verses." 
"  I  was  glad,"  observed  Reynolds,  "  to  hear  Charles  Fox  say  it 
was  one  of  the  finest  poems  in  the  English  language."  "  Why 
was  you  glad?"  rejoined  Langton,  "you  surely  had  no  doubt  of 
this  before."  "  No,"  interposed  Johnson,  decisively  ;  "  the  merit 
of  'The  Traveller'  is  so  well  established  that  Mr.  Fox's  praise 
cannot  augment  it,  nor  his  censure  diminish  it." 

Boswell,  who  was  absent  from  England  at  the  time  of  the 
publication  of  the  Traveller,  was  astonished,  on  his  return,  to  find 
Goldsmith,  whom  he  had  so  much  undervalued,  suddenly  elevated 
almost  to  a  par  with  his  idol.  He  accounted  for  it  by  concluding 
that  much  both  of  the  sentiments  and  expression  of  the  poem, 
had  been  derived  from  conversations  with  Johnson.  "  He  imi- 
tates you,  sir,"  said  this  incarnation  of  toadyism.  "  Why  no,  sir," 
replied  Johnson,  "Jack  Hawksworth  is  one  of  my  imitators, 
but  not  Goldsmith.     Goldy,  sir,  has  great  merit."     "  But,  sir,  he 


164  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


is  much  indebted  to  you  for  his  getting  so  high  in  the  public 
estimation."  "  Why,  sir,  he  has,  perhaps,  got  soon&r  to  it  by  his 
intimacy  with  me." 

The  poem  went  through  several  editions  in  the  course  of  the 
first  year,  and  received  some  few  additions  and  corrections  from 
the  author's  pen.  It  produced  a  golden  harvest  to  Mr.  Newbery, 
but  all  the  remuneration  on  record,  doled  out  by  his  niggard 
hand  to  the  author,  was  twenty  guineas  ! 


i 


NEW  LODGINGS.  165 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

New  lodgings. — Johnson's  compliment. — A  titled  patron. — The  poet  at  Nor- 
thumberland House. — His  independence  of  the  great. — The  Countess  of 
Northumberland. — Edwin  and  Angelina. — Gosford  and  Lord  Clare. — Pub- 
lication of  Essays. — Evils  of  a  rising  reputation. — Hangers-on. — Job  writ- 
ing.— Goody  Two-shoes. — A  medical  campaign. — Mrs.  Sidebotham. 

Goldsmith,  now  that  he  was  rising  in  the  world,  and  becoming  a 
notoriety,  felt  himself  called  upon  to  improve  his  style  of  living. 
He  accordingly  emerged  from  Wine-Office  Court,  and  took  cham- 
bers in  the  Temple.  It  is  true  they  were  but  of  humble  preten- 
sions, situated  on  what  was  then  the  library  staircase,  and  it 
would  appear  that  he  was  a  kind  of  inmate  with  JeiFs,  the  butler 
of  the  society.  Still  he  was  in  the  Temple,  that  classic  region 
rendered  famous  by  the  Spectator  and  other  essayists,  as  the 
abode  of  gay  wits  and  thoughtful  men  of  letters  ;  and  which,  with 
its  retired  courts  and  embowered  gardens,  in  the  very  heart  of  a 
noisy  metropolis,  is,  to  the  quiet-seeking  student  and  author,  an 
oasis  freshening  with  verdure  in  the  midst  of  a  desert.  Johnson, 
who  had  become  a  kind  of  growling  supervisor  of  the  poet's  afi'airs, 
paid  him  a  visit  soon  after  he  had  installed  himself  in  his  new 
quarters,  and  went  prying  about  the  apartment,  in  his  near-sighted 
manner,  examining  every  thing  minutely.     Goldsmith  was  fidget- 


166  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


ed  by  this  curious  scrutiny,  and  apprehending  a  disposition  to 
find  fault,  exclaimed,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  money  in 
both  pockets,  "  I  shall  soon  be  in  better  chambers  than  these." 
The  harmless  bravado  drew  a  reply  from  Johnson,  which  touched 
the  chord  of  proper  pride.  "  Nay,  sir,"  said  he,  "  never  mind  that. 
Nil  te  quaesiveris  extra" — implying  that  his  reputation  rendered 
him  independent  of  outward  show.  Happy  would  it  have  been  for 
poor  Goldsmith,  could  he  have  kept  this  consolatory  compliment 
perpetually  in  mind,  and  squared  his  expenses  accordingly. 

Among  the  persons  of  rank  who  were  struck  with  the  merits 
of  the  Traveller  was  the  Earl  (afterwards  Duke)  of  Northumber- 
land. He  procured  several  other  of  Groldsmith's  writings,  the 
perusal  of  which  tended  to  elevate  the  author  in  his  good  opinion, 
and  to  gain  for  him  his  good  will.  The  earl  held  the  office  of  Lord 
Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  and  understanding  Goldsmith  was  an 
Irishman,  was  disposed  to  extend  to  him  the  patronage  which  his 
high  post  afforded.  He  intimated  the  same  to  his  relative,  Dr. 
Percy,  who,  he  found,  was  well  acquainted  with  the  poet,  and  ex 
pressed  a  wish  that  the  latter  should  wait  upon  him.  Here,  then, 
was  another  opportunity  for  Goldsmith  to  better  his  fortune,  had 
he  been  knowing  and  worldly  enough  to  profit  by  it.  Unluck- 
ily the  path  to  fortune  lay  through  the  aristocratical  mazes  of 
Northumberland  House,  and  the  poet  blundered  at  the  outset. 
The  following  is  the  account  he  used  to  give  of  his  visit : — "  I 
dressed  myself  in  the  best  manner  I  could,  and,  after  studying 
Bome  compliments  I  thought  necessary  on  such  an  occasion,  pro- 
ceeded to  Northumberland  House,  and  acquainted  the  servants 
that  I  had  particular  business  with  the  duke.  They  showed  me 
into  an  antechamber,  where,  after  waiting  some  time,  a  gentleman, 
very  elegantly  dressed,  made  his  appearance :  taking  him  for  the 


VISIT  TO  NORTHUMBERLAND  HOUSE.  167 


duke,  I  delivered  all  the  fine  things  I  had  composed  in  order  to 
compliment  him  on  the  honor  he  had  done  me ;  when,  to  my  great 
astonishment,  he  told  me  I  had  mistaken  him  for  his  master,  who 
would  see  me  immediately.  At  that  instant  the  duke  came  into 
the  apartment,  and  I  was  so  confounded  on  the  occasion,  that  I 
wanted  words  barely  sufiicient  to  express  the  sense  I  entertained 
of  the  duke's  politeness,  and  went  away  exceedingly  chagrined  at 
the  blunder  I  had  committed." 

Sir  John  Hawkins,  in  his  life  of  Dr.  Johnson,  gives  some  far- 
ther particulars  of  this  visit,  of  which  he  was,  in  part,  a  witness. 
"  Having  one  day,"  says  he,  "  a  call  to  make  on  the  late  Duke, 
then  Earl,  of  Northumberland,  I  found  Goldsmith  waiting  for  an 
audience  in  an  outer  room :  I  asked  him  what  had  brought  him 
there ;  he  told  me,  an  invitation  from  his  lordship.  I  made  my 
business  as  short  as  I  could,  and,  as  a  reason,  mentioned  that  Dr. 
Groldsmith  was  waiting  without.  The  earl  asked  me  if  I  was 
acquainted  with  him.  I  told  him  that  I  was,  adding  what  I 
thought  was  most  likely  to  recommend  him.  I  retired,  and  stayed 
in  the  outer  room  to  take  him  home.  Upon  his  coming  out,  I 
asked  him  the  result  of  his  conversation.  '  His  lordship,'  said 
he,  '  told  me  he  had  read  my  poem,  meaning  the  Traveller,  and 
was  much  delighted  with  it ;  that  he  was  going  to  be  lord-lieute- 
nant of  Ireland,  and  that  hearing  I  was  a  native  of  that  country, 
he  should  be  glad  to  do  me  any  kindness.'  '  And  what  did  you 
answer,'  said  I,  '  to  this  gracious  oiFer  V  '  Why,'  said  he,  '  I  could 
say  notliing  but  that  I  had  a  brother  there,  a  clergyman,  that 
stood  in  need  of  help  :  as  for  myself,  I  have  no  great  dependence 
on  the  promises  of  great  men ;  I  look  to  the  booksellers  for  sup- 
port ;  they  are  my  best  friends,  and  I  am  not  inclined  to  forsake 
them  for  others.'  "     "  Thus,"  continues  Sir  John,  "  did  this  idiot 


168  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


in  the  affairs  of  the  world  trifle  with  his  fortunes,  and  put  back 
the  hand  that  was  held  out  to  assist  him." 

We  cannot  join  with  Sir  John  in  his  worldly  sneer  at  the 
conduct  of  Goldsmith  on  this  occasion.  While  we  admire  that 
honest  independence  of  spirit  which  prevented  him  from  asking 
favors  for  himself,  we  love  that  warmth  of  affection  which  instantly 
sought  to  advance  the  fortunes  of  a  brother :  but  the  peculiar 
merits  of  poor  Goldsmith  seem  to  have  been  little  understood  by 
the  Hawkinses,  the  Boswells,  and  the  other  biographers  of  the  day. 

After  all,  the  introduction  to  Northumberland  House,  did 
not  prove  so  complete  a  failure  as  the  humorous  account  given 
by  Goldsmith,  and  the  cynical  account  given  by  Sir  John  Haw- 
kins, might  lead  one  to  suppose.  Dr.  Percy,  the  heir  male  of  the 
ancient  Percies,  brought  the  poet  into  the  acquaintance  of  his 
kinswoman,  the  countess ;  who,  before  her  marriage  with  the 
earl,  was  in  her  own  right  heiress  of  the  House  of  Northumber- 
land. "  She  was  a  lady,"  says  Boswell,  "  not  only  of  high  dig- 
nity of  spirit,  such  as  became  her  noble  blood,  but  of  excellent 
understanding  and  lively  talents."  Under  her  auspices  a  poem 
of  Goldsmith's  had  an  aristocratical  introduction  to  the  world. 
This  was  the  beautiful  ballad  of  "  the  Hermit,"  originally  pub- 
lished under  the  name  of  "  Edwin  and  Angelina."  It  was  sug- 
gested by  an  old  English  ballad  beginning  "  Gentle  Herdsman," 
shown  him  by  Dr.  Percy,  who  was  at  that  time  making  his  famous 
collection,  entitled  "  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry," 
which  he  submitted  to  the  inspection  of  Goldsmith  prior  to  pul- 
lication.  A  few  copies  only  of  the  Hermit  were  printed  at  first, 
with  the  following  title-page  :  "  Edwin  and  Angelina  :  a  Ballad. 
By  Mr.  Goldsmith.  Printed  for  the  Amusement  of  the  Countess 
of  Northumberland." 


GOSFORD  AND  LORD  CLARE.  169 


All  this,  though  it  may  not  have  been  attended  with  any 
immediate  pecuniary  advantage,  contributed  to  give  Groldsmith's 
name  and  poetry  the  high  stamp  of  fashion,  so  potent  in  Eng- 
land :  the  circle  at  Northumberland  House,  however,  was  of  too 
stately  and  aristocratical  a  nature  to  be  much,  to  his  taste,  and 
we  do  not  find  that  he  became  familiar  in  it. 

He  was  much  more  at  home  at  Gosford,  the  noble  seat  of  his 
countryman,  Robert  Nugent,  afterwards  Baron  Nugent  and  Vis- 
count Clare,  who  appreciated  his  merits  even  more  heartily  than 
the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  and  occasionally  made  him  his 
guest  both  in  town  and  country.  Nugent  is  described  as  a  jovial 
voluptuary,  who  left  the  Roman  Catholic  for  the  Protestant  reli- 
gion, with  a  view  to  bettering  his  fortunes ;  he  had  an  Irishman's 
inclination  for  rich  widows,  and  an  Irishman's  luck  with  the  sex ; 
having  been  thrice  married,  and  gained  a  fortune  with  each  wife. 
He  was  now  nearly  sixty,  with  a  remarkably  loud  voice,  broad  Irish 
brogue,  and  ready,  but  somewhat  coarse  wit.  With  all  his  occa- 
sional coarseness  he  was  capable  of  high  thought,  and  had  pro- 
duced poems  which  showed  a  truly  poetic  vein.  He  was  long  a 
member  of  the  House  of  Commons,  where  his  ready  wit,  his 
fearless  decision,  and  good-humored  audacity  of  expression, 
always  gained  him  a  hearing,  though  his  tall  person  and  awkward 
manner  gained  him  the  nickname  of  Squire  Gawky,  among  the 
political  scribblers  of  the  day.  With  a  patron  of  this  jovial  tem- 
perament. Goldsmith  probably  felt  more  at  ease  than  with  those 
of  higher  refinement. 

The  celebrity  which  Goldsmith  had  acquired  by  his  poem  of 
"  The  Traveller,"  occasioned  a  resuscitation  of  many  of  his  mis- 
cellaneous and  anonymous  tales  and  essays  from  the  various 
newspapers  and  other  transient  publications  in  which  they  lay 


170  OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 


dormant.  These  he  published  in  1765,  in  a  collected  form,  under 
the  title  of  "  Essays  by  Mr.  Goldsmith."  "  The  following  Es- 
says," observes  he  in  his  preface,  "  have  already  appeared  at  dif- 
ferent times,  and  in  different  publications.  The  pamphlets  in 
which  they  were  inserted  being  generally  unsuccessful,  these 
shared  the  common  fate,  without  assisting  the  booksellers'  aims, 
or  extending  the  author's  reputation.  The  public  were  too  stre- 
nuously employed  with  their  own  follies  to  be  assiduous  in  esti- 
mating mine  ;  so  that  many  of  my  best  attempts  in  this  way  have 
fallen  victims  to  the  transient  topic  of  the  times — the  Ghost  in 
Cock-Lane,  or  the  Siege  of  Ticonderoga. 

"  But,  though  they  have  passed  pretty  silently  into  the  world, 
I  can  by  no  means  complain  of  their  circulation.  The  maga- 
zines and  papers  of  the  day  have  indeed  been  liberal  enough  in 
this  respect.  Most  of  these  essays  have  been  regularly  reprinted 
twice  or  thrice  a  year,  and  conveyed  to  the  public  through  the 
kennel  of  some  engaging  compilation.  If  there  be  a  pride  in 
multiplied  editions,  I  have  seen  some  of  my  labors  sixteen  times 
reprinted,  and  claimed  by  different  parents  as  their  own.  I  have 
seen  them  flourished  at  the  beginning  with  praise,  and  signed  at 
the  end  with  the  names  of  Philautos,  Philalethes,  Phileleutheros, 
and  Philanthropes.  It  is  time,  however,  at  last  to  vindicate  my 
claims ;  and  as  these  entertainers  of  the  public,  as  they  call 
themselves,  have  partly  lived  upon  me  for  some  years,  let  me 
now  try  if  I  cannot  live  a  little  upon  myself" 

It  was  but  little,  in  fact,  for  all  the  pecuniary  emolument  he 
received  from  the  volume  was  twenty  guineas.  It  had  a  good 
circulation,  however,  was  translated  into  French,  and  has  main- 
tained its  stand  among  the  British  classics. 

Notwithstanding  that  the  reputation  of  Goldsmith  had  great- 


NEWBERY  AND  GOODY  TWO   SHOES.  171 


ly  risen,  his  finances  were  often  at  a  very  low  ebb,  owing  to  his 
heedlessness  as  to  expense,  his  liability  to  be  imposed  upon,  and 
a  spontaneous  and  irresistible  propensity  to  give  to  every  one 
who  asked.  The  very  rise  in  his  reputation  had  increased  these 
embarrassments.  It  had  enlarged  his  circle  of  needy  acquaint- 
ances, authors  poorer  in  pocket  than  himself,  who  came  in  search 
of  literary  counsel ;  which  generally  meant  a  guinea  and  a  break- 
fast. And  then  his  Irish  hangers-on  !  "  Our  Doctor,"  said  one 
of  these  sponges,  "  had  a  constant  levee  of  his  distressed  country- 
men, whose  wants,  as  far  as  he  was  able,  he  always  relieved ;  and 
he  has  often  been  known  to  leave  himself  without  a  guinea,  in 
order  to  supply  the  necessities  of  others," 

This  constant  drainage  of  the  purse  therefore  obliged  him  to 
undertake  all  jobs  proposed  by  the  booksellers,  and  to  keep  up  a 
kind  of  running  account  with  Mr.  Newbery ;  who  was  his  banker 
on  all  occasions,  sometimes  for  pounds,  sometimes  for  shillings ; 
but  who  was  a  rigid  accountant,  and  took  care  to  be  amply 
repaid  in  manuscript.  Many  efi"usions,  hastily  penned  in  these 
moments  of  exigency,  were  published  anonymously,  and  never 
claimed.  Some  of  them  have  but  recently  been  traced  to  his  pen  ; 
while  of  many  the  true  authorship  will  probably  never  be  dis- 
covered. Among  others,  it  is  suggested,  and  with  great  proba- 
bility, that  he  wrote  for  Mr.  Newbery  the  famous  nursery  story 
of  "Goody  Two  Shoes,"  which  appeared  in  1765,  at  a  moment 
when  Goldsmith  was  scribbling  for  Newbery,  and  much  pressed 
for  funds.  Several  quaint  little  tales  introduced  in  his  Essays 
show  that  he  had  a  turn  for  this  species  of  mock  history ;  and 
the  advertisement  and  title-page  bear  the  stamp  of  his  sly  and 
playful  humor. 

"  We  are  desired  to  give  notice,  that  there  is  in  the  press, 


172  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


and  speedily  will  be  published,  either  by  subscription  or  other- 
wise, as  the  public  shall  please  to  determine,  the  History  of  Little 
Goody  Two  Shoes,  otherwise  Mrs.  Margery  Two  Shoes ;  with  the 
means  by  which  she  acquired  learning  and  wisdom,  and,  in  con- 
sequence thereof,  her  estate ;  set  forth  at  large  for  the  benefit  of 
those 

"  Who,  from  a  state  of  rags  and  care, 
And  having  shoes  but  half  a  pair. 
Their  fortune  and  their  fame  should  fix. 
And  gallop  in  a  coach  and  six." 

The  world  is  probably  not  aware  of  the  ingenuity,  humor, 
good  sense,  and  sly  satire  contained  in  many  of  the  old  English 
nursery-tales.  They  have  evidently  been  the  sportive  produc- 
tions of  able  writers,  who  would  not  trust  their  names  to  pro- 
ductions that  might  be  considered  beneath  their  dignity.  The 
ponderous  works  on  which  they  relied  for  immortality  have 
perhaps  sunk  into  oblivion,  and  carried  their  names  down  with 
them  ;  while  their  unacknowledged  offspring,  Jack  the  Giant 
Killer,  Giles  Gingerbread,  and  Tom  Thumb,  flourish  in  wide- 
spreading  and  never-ceasing  popularity. 

As  Goldsmith  had  now  acquired  popularity  and  an  extensive 
acquaintance,  he  attempted,  with  the  advice  of  his  friends,  to 
procure  a  more  regular  and  ample  support  by  resuming  the 
medical  profession.  He  accordingly  launched  himself  upon  the 
town  in  style ;  hired  a  man-servant ;  replenished  his  wardrobe 
at  considerable  expense,  and  appeared  in  a  professional  wig  and 
cane,  purple  silk  small-clothes,  and  a  scarlet  roquelaure  buttoned 
to  the  chin :  a  fantastic  garb,  as  we  should  think  at  the  present 
day,  but  not  un suited  to  the  fashion  of  the  times. 


MRS.   SIDEBOTHAM.  173 


With  his  sturdy  little  person  thus  arrayed  in  the  unusual 
magnificence  of  purple  and  fine  linen,  and  his  scarlet  roquelaure 
flaunting  from  his  shoulders,  he  used  to  strut  into  the  apart- 
ments of  his  patients  swaying  his  three-cornered  hat  in  one  hand 
and  his  medical  sceptre,  the  cane,  in  the  other,  and  assuming  an 
air  of  gravity  and  importance  suited  to  the  solemnity  of  his  wig ; 
at  least,  such  is  the  picture  given  of  him  by  the  waiting  gentle- 
woman who  let  him  into  the  chamber  of  one  of  his  lady  patients. 

He  soon,  however,  grew  tired  and  impatient  of  the  duties  and 
restraints  of  his  profession ;  his  practice  was  chiefly  among  his 
friends,  and  the  fees  were  not  sufficient  for  his  maintenance ;  he 
was  disgusted  with  attendance  on  sick-chambers  and  capricious 
patients,  and  looked  back  with  longing  to  his  tavern  haunts  and 
broad  convivial  meetings,  from  which  the  dignity  and  duties  of 
his  medical  calling  restrained  him.  At  length,  on  prescribing  to 
a  lady  of  his  acquaintance  who,  to  use  a  hackneyed  phrase,  "  re- 
joiced" in  the  aristocratical  name  of  Sidebotham,  a  warm  dispute 
arose  between  him  and  the  apothecary  as  to  the  quantity  of 
medicine  to  be  administered.  The  doctor  stood  up  for  the 
rights  and  dignities  of  his  profession,  and  resented  the  interfe- 
rence of  the  compounder  of  drugs.  His  rights  and  dignities, 
however,  were  disregarded  ;  his  wig  and  cane  and  scarlet  roque- 
laur  were  of  no  avail ;  Mrs.  Sidebotham  sided  with  the  hero  of 
the  pestle  and  mortar ;  and  Goldsmith  flung  out  of  the  house  in 
a  passion.  "  I  am  determined  henceforth,"  said  he  to  Topham 
Beauclerc,  "  to  leave  off  prescribing  for  friends."  "  Do  so,  my 
dear  doctor,"  was  the  reply ;  "  whenever  you  undertake  to  kill, 
let  it  be  only  your  enemies." 

This  was  the  end  of  Goldsmith's  medical  career. 


174  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Publication  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield — opinions  concerning  it — of  Dr.  John- 
son— of  Rogers  the  poet — of  Goethe — its  merits. — Exquisite  extract. — 
Attack  by  Kenrick. — Reply. — Book  building — Project  of  a  comedy. 

The  success  of  the  poem  of  "  The  Traveller,"  and  the  popularity 
which  it  had  conferred  on  its  author,  now  roused  the  attention  of 
the  bookseller  in  whose  hands  the  novel  of  "  The  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field "  had  been  slumbering  for  nearly  two  long  years.  The  idea 
has  generally  prevailed  that  it  was  Mr.  John  Newbery  to  whom  the 
manuscript  had  been  sold,  and  much  surprise  has  been  expressed 
that  he  should  be  insensible  to  its  merit  and  suffer  it  to  remain 
unpublished,  while  putting  forth  various  inferior  writings  by  the 
same  author.  This,  however,  is  a  mistake ;  it  was  his  nephew, 
Francis  Newbery,  who  had  become  the  fortunate  purchaser. 
Still  the  delay  is  equally  unaccountable.  Some  have  imagined 
that  the  uncle  and  nephew  had  business  arrangements  together, 
in  which  this  work  was  included,  and  that  the  elder  Newbery, 
dubious  of  its  success,  retarded  the  publication  until  the  full 
harvest  of  "The  Traveller"  should  be  reaped.  Booksellers  are 
prone  to  make  egregious  mistakes  as  to  the  merit  of  works  in 
manuscript ;  and  to  undervalue,  if  not  reject,  those  of  classic  and 
enduring  excellence,  when  destitute  of  that  false  brilliancy  com- 
monly called  "effect."      In  the  present  instance,  an   intellect 


THE  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  175 


vastly  superior  to  that  of  either  of  the  booksellers  was  equally  at 
fault.  Dr.  Johnson,  speaking  of  the  work  to  Boswell,  some  time 
subsequent  to  its  publication,  observed,  - 1  myself  did  not  think 
it  would  have  had  much  success.  It  was  written  and  sold  to  a 
bookseller  before  "  The  Traveller,"  but  published  after,  so  little 
expectation  had  the  bookseller  from  it.  Had  it  been  sold  after 
"  The  J^raveller,"  he  might  have  had  twice  as  much  money ; 
though  sixty  guineas  was  7io  inea^i  jyrice^] 

Sixty  guineas  for  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  !  and  this  could  be 
pronounced  tio  meaji  price  by  Dr.  Johnson,  at  that  time  the 
arbiter  of  British  talent,  and  who  had  had  an  opportunity  of 
witnessing  the  effect  of  the  work  upon  the  public  mind ;  for  its 
success  was  immediate.  It  came  out  on  the  27th  of  March,  1766 ; 
before  the  end  of  May  a  second  edition  was  called  for ;  in  three 
months  more,  a  third ;  and  so  it  went  on,  widening  in  a  popu- 
larity that  has  never  flagged.  Rogers,  the  Nestor  of  British 
literature,  whose  refined  purity  of  taste  and  exquisite  mental 
organization,  rendered  him  eminently  calculated  to  appreciate  a 
work  of  the  kind,  declared  that  of  all  the  books,  which  through 
the  fitful  changes  of  three  generations  he  had  seen  rise  and  fall, 
the  charm  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  had  alone  continued  as  at 
first ;  and  could  he  revisit  the  world  after  an  interval  of  many 
more  generations,  he  should  as  surely  look  to  find  it  undiminished. 
Nor  has  its  celebrity  been  confined  to  Great  Britain.  Though  so 
exclusively  a  picture  of  British  scenes  and  manners,  it  has  been 
translated  into  almost  every  language,  and  every  where  its  charm 
has  been  the  same.  Groethe,  the  great  genius  of  Germany,  de- 
clared in  his  eighty-first  year,  that  it  was  his  delight  at  the  age 
of  twenty,  that  it  had  in  a  manner  formed  a  part  of  his  educa- 
tion, influencing  his  taste  and  feelings  throughout  life,  and  that 


176  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


he  had  recently  read  it  again  from  beginning  to  end — with  re- 
newed delight,  and  with  a  grateful  sense  of  the  early  benefit 
derived  from  it. 

It  is  needless  to  expatiate  upon  the  qualities  of  a  work  which 
has  thus  passed  from  country  to  country,  and  language  to  lan- 
guage, until  it  is  now  known  throughout  the  whole  reading  world 
and  is  become  a  household  book  in  every  hand.  IJiig^^cret  of 
its  universal  and  enduring  popularity  is  undoubtedly  its  truth 
to  nature,  but  to  nature  of  the  most  amiable  kind  ;  to  nature 
such  as  Goldsmith  saw  it.  The  author,  as  we  have  occasionally 
shown  in  the  course  of  this  memoir,  took  his  scenes  and  charac- 
ters in  this,  as  in  his  other  writings,  from  originals  in  his  own 
motley  experience  ;  but  he  has  given  them  as  seen  through  the 
medium  of  his  own  indulgent  eye,  and  has  set  them  forth  with 
the  colorings  of  his  own  good  liead  ^nd  heart.  Yet  how  con- 
tradictory it  seems  that  this,  one  of  the  most  delightful  pictures 
of  home  and  homefelt  happiness  should  be  drawn  by  a  homeless 
man :  that  the  most  amiabie_pjcture  of  domestic  virtue  and  all 
the  endearments  of  the  married  state  should  be  drawn  by  a 
bachelor,  who  had  been  severed  from  domestic  life  almost  from 
boyhood;  that  one  of  the  most  tender,  touching,  and  aifecting 
appeals  on  behalf  of  female  loveliness,  should  have  been  made 
by  a  man  whose  deficiency  in  all  the  graces  of  person  and 
manner  seemed  to  mark  him  out  for  a  cynical  disparager  of 
the  sex. 

We  cannot  refrain  from  transcribing  from  the  work  a  short 
passage  illustrative  of  what  we  have  said,  and  which  within  a 
wonderfully  sjuall  compass  comprises  a  world  of  beauty  of 
imagery,  tenderness  of  feeling,  delicacy  and  refinement  of 
thought,  and  matchless  purity' of  style.     The  two  stanzas  which 


WOMAN'S  WRONGS.  177 


conclude  it,  in  which  are  told  a  whole  history  of  woman's  wrongs 
and  sufferings,  is^  for  pathos,  simplicity  and  euphony,  a  gem  in 
the  language.  The  scene  depicted  is  where  the  poor  Vicar  is 
gathering  around  him  the  wrecks  of  his  shattered  family,  and 
endeavoring  to  rally  them  back  to  happiness. 

"  The  next  morning  the  sun  arose  with  peculiar  warmth  for 
the  season,  so  that  we  agreed  to  breakfast  together  on  the  honey- 
suckle bank  ;  where,  while  we  sat,  my  youngest  daughter  at  my 
request  joined  her  voice  to  the  concert  on  the  trees  about  us. 
It  was  in  this  place  my  poor  Olivia  first  met  her  seducer,  and 
every  object  served  to  recall  her  .sadness.  But  that  melancholy 
which  is  excited  by  objects  of  pleasure,  or  inspired  by  sounds  of 
harmony,  soothes  the  heart  instead  of  corroding  it.  Her  mother, 
too,  upon  this  occasion,  felt  a  pleasing  distress,  and  wept,  and 
loved  her  daughter  as  before.  '  Do,  my  pretty  Olivia,'  cried 
she,  '  let  us  have  that  melancholy  air  your  father  was  so  fond 
of;  your  sister  Sophy  has  already  obliged  us.  Do,  child,  it  will 
please  your  old  father.'  She  complied  in  a  manner  so  exquisite- 
ly pathetic  as  moved  me, 

"  '  When  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly. 
And  finds  too  late  that  men  betray, 
What  charm  can  soothe  her  melancholy, 
What  art  can  wash  her  guilt  away  ? 

The  only  art  her  guilt  to  cover. 

To  hide  her  shame  from  every  eye, 
To  give  repentance  to  her  lover. 

And  wring  his  bosom — is  to  die.'  " 

Scarce  had  the  Yicar  of  Wakefield  made  its  appearance  and 
been  received  with  acclamation,  than  its  author  was  subjected  to 

8* 


178  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


one  of  the  usual  penalties  that  attend  success.  He  was  attacked 
in  the  newspapers.  In  one  of  the  chapters  he  had  introduced 
his  ballad  of  the  Hermit,  of  which,  as  we  have  mentioned,  a  few 
copies  had  been  printed  some  considerable  time  previously  for 
the  use  of  the  Countess  of  Northumberland.  This  brought 
forth  the  following  article  in  a  fashionable  journal  of  the  day : 

"  To  the  Printer  of  tJie  St.  Jameses  Chronicle. 

"  Sir, — In  the  Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetry,  published  about 
two  years  ago,  is  a  very  beautiful  little  ballad,  called  '  A  Friar  of 
Orders  Gray.'  The  ingenious  editor,  Mr.  Percy,  supposes  that 
the  stanzas  sung  by  Ophelia  in  the  play  of  Hamlet  were  parts 
of  some  ballad  well  known  in  Shakspeare's  time,  and  from  these 
stanzas,  with  the  addition  of  one  or  two  of  his  own  to  connect 
them,  he  has  formed  the  above-mentioned  ballad ;  the  subject  of 
which  is,  a  lady  comes  to  a  convent  to  inquire  for  her  love  who 
had  been  driven  there  by  her  disdain.  She  is  answered  by  a 
friar  that  he  is  dead : 

"  '  No,  no,  he  is  dead,  gone  to  his  death's  bed. 
He  never  will  come  again.' 

The  lady  weeps  and  laments  her  cruelty ;  the  friar  endeavors  to 
comfort  her  with  morality  and  religion,  but  all  in  vain ;  she  ex- 
presses the  deepest  grief  and  the  most  tender  sentiments  of  love, 
till  at  last  the  friar  discovers  himself : 

"  *  And  lo !  beneath  this  gown  of  gray 
Thy  own  true  love  appears.' 

"  This  catastrophe  is  very  fine,  and  the  whole,  joined  with 


NEWSPAPER  ATTACK.  I79 

the  greatest  tenderness,  has  the  greatest  simplicity ;  yet,  though 
this  ballad  was  so  recently  published  iii)  the  Ancient  Reliques, 
Dr.  Groldsmith  has  been  hardy  enough  to  publish  a  poem  called 
'  the  Hermit,'  where  the  circumstances  and  catastrophe  are  ex- 
actly the  same,  only  with  this  difference,  that  the  natural  sim- 
plicity and  tenderness  of  the  original  are  almost  entirely  lost  in 
the  languid  smoothness  and  tedious  paraphrase  of  the  copy, 
which  is  as  short  of  the  merits  of  Mr.  Percy's  ballad  as  the 
insipidity  of  negus  is  to  the  genuine  flavor  of  champagne. 
"  I  am,  sir,  yours,  &c., 

"  Detector." 

This  attack,  supposed  to  be  by  Goldsmith's  constant  persecu- 
tor, the  malignant  Kenrick,  drew  from  him  the  following  note 
to  the  editor : 

"  Sir, — As  there  is  nothing  I  dislike  so  much  as  newspaper 
controversy,  particularly  upon  trifles,  permit  me  to  be  as  concise 
as  possible  in  informing  a  correspondent  of  yours  that  I  re- 
commended Blainville's  travels  because  I  thought  the  book  was 
a  good  one ;  and  I  think  so  still.  I  said  I  was  told  by  the  book- 
seller that  it  was  then  first  published  ;  but  in  that  it  seems  I 
was  misinformed,  and  my  reading  was  not  extensive  enough  to 
set  me  right. 

"  Another  correspondent  of  yours  accuses  me  of  having  taken 
a  ballad  I  published  some  time  ago,  from  one  by  the  ingenious 
Mr.  Percy.  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  great  resemblance  be- 
tween the  two  pieces  in  question.  If  there  be  any,  his  ballad 
was  taken  from  mine.  I  read  it  to  Mr.  Percy  some  years  ago ; 
and  he,  as  we  both  considered  these  things  as  trifles  at  best,  told 
me,  with  his  usual  good-humor,  the  next  time  I  saw  him,  that  he 


180  OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 


had  taken  my  plan  to  form  the  fragments  of  Shakspeare  into  a 
ballad  of  his  own.  He  then  read  me  his  little  Ceuto,  if  I  may 
so  call  it,  and  I  highly  approved  it.  Sach  petty  anecdotes  as 
these  are  scarcely  worth  printing ;  and.  were  it  not  for  the  busy 
disposition  of  some  of  your  correspondents,  the  public  should 
never  have  known  that  he  owes  me  the  hint  of  his  ballad,  or  that 
I  am  obliged  to  his  friendship  and  learning  for  communications 
of  a  much  more  important  nature. 

"I  am,  sir,  yours,  &c., 

"  Oliver  Gtoldsmith." 

The  unexpected  circulation  of  the  "  Yicar  of  Wakefield," 
enriched  the  publisher,  but  not  the  author.  Goldsmith  no  doubt 
thought  himself  entitled  to  participate  in  the  profits  of  the  re- 
peated editions ;  and  a  memorandum,  still  extant,  shows  that  he 
jlrew  upon  Mr.  Francis  Newbery,  in  the  month  of  June,  for  fif- 
teen guineas,  but  that  the  bill  was  returned  dishonored.  He 
continued,  therefore,  his  usual  job-work  for  the  booksellers,  wri- 
ting introductions,  prefaces,  and  head  and  tail  pieces  for  new 
works  ;  revising,  touching  up,  and  modifying  travels  and  voy- 
ages;  making  compilations  of  prose  and  poetry,  and  "building 
books,"  as  he  sportively  termed  it.  These  tasks  required  little 
labor  or  talent,  but  that  taste  and  touch  which  are  the  magic  of 
gifted  minds.  His  terms  began  to  be  proportioned  to  his  celeb- 
rity. If  his  price  was  at  any  time  objected  to,  "  Why,  sir,"  he 
would  say,  "  it  may  seem  large  ;  but  then  a  man  may  be  many 
years  working  in  obscurity  before  his  taste  and  reputation  are 
fixed  or  estimated  ;  and  then  he  is,  as  in  other  professions,  only 
paid  for  his  previous  labors." 

He  was,  however,  prepared  to  try  his  fortune  in  a  different 


SENTIMENTAL  COMEDY.  181 


walk  of  literature  from  any  he  had  yet  attempted.  We  have 
repeatedly  adverted  to  his  fondness  for  the  drama ;  he  was  a  fre- 
quent attendant  at  the  theatres  ;  though,  as  we  have  shown,  he 
considered  them  under  gross  mismanagement.  He  thought,  too, 
that  a  vicious  taste  prevailed  among  those  who  wrote  for  the 
stage.  "  A  new  species  of  dramatic  composition,"  says  he,  in 
one  of  his  essays,  "  has  been  introduced  under  the  name  of  senti- 
TYiental  comedy^  in  which  the  virtues  of  private  life  are  exhibited 
rather  than  the  vices  exposed  ;  and  the  distresses  rather  than 
the  faults  of  mankind  make  our  interest  in  the  piece.  In  these 
plays  almost  all  the  characters  are  good,  and  exceedingly  gene- 
rous ;  they  are  lavish  enough  of  their  tin  money  on  the  stage ; 
and  though  they  want  humor,  have  abundance  of  sentiment  and 
feeling.  If  they  happen  to  have  faults  or  foibles,  the  spectator 
is  taught  not  only  to  pardon,  but  to  applaud  them  in  considera- 
tion of  the  goodness  of  their  hearts ;  so  that  folly,  instead  of 
being  ridiculed,  is  commended,  and  the  comedy  aims  at  touching 
our  passions,  without  the  power  of  being  truly  pathetic.  In  this 
manner  we  are  likely  to  lose  one  great  source  of  entertainment 
on  the  stage ;  for  while  the  comic  poet  is  invading  the  province 
of  the  tragic  muse,  he  leaves  her  lively  sister  quite  neglected. 
Of  this,  however,  he  is  no  ways  solicitous,  as  he  measures  his 
fame  by  his  profits.  #         *         *  # 

'•  Humor  at  present  seems  to  be  departing  from  the  stage ; 
and  it  will  soon  happen  that  our  comic  players  will  have  nothing 
lift  for  it  but  a  fine  coat  and  a  song.  It  depends  upon  the 
audience  whether  they  will  actually  drive  those  poor  merry  crea- 
tures from  the  stage,  or  sit  at  a  play  as  gloomy  as  at  the  taber- 
nacle. It  is  not  easy  to  recover  an  art  when  once  lost ;  and  it 
will  be  a  just  punishment,  that  when,  by  our  being  too  fastidious, 


182  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


we  have  banished  humor  from  the  stage,  we  should  ourselves  be 
deprived  of  the  art  of  laughing." 

Symptoms  of  reform  in  the  drama  had  recently  taken  place. 
The  comedy  of  the  Clandestine  Marriage^  the  joint  production 
of  Colman  and  Garrick,  and  suggested  by  Hogarth's  inimitable 
pictures  of  Marriage  a  la  mode,  had  taken  the  town  by  storm, 
crowded  the  theatre  with  fashionable  audiences,  and  formed  one 
of  the  leading  literary  topics  of  the  year.  Goldsmith's  emula- 
tion was  roused  by  its  success.  The  comedy  was  in  what  he 
considered  the  legitimate  line,  totally  different  from  the  senti- 
mental school ;  it  presented  pictures  of  real  life,  delineations  of 
character  and  touches  of  humor,  in  which  he  felt  himself  calcu- 
lated to  excel.  The  consequence  was,  that  in  the  course  of  this 
year  (1766),  he  commenced  a  comedy  of  the  same  class,  to  be 
entitled  the  Good  Natured  Man,  at  which  he  diligently  wrought 
whenever  the  hurried  occupation  of  '  book  building '  allowed  him 
leisure. 


SOCIAL  POSITION  OF  GOLDSMITH.  183 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Social  position  of  Goldsmith — his  colloquial  contests  with  Johnson. — Anec- 
dotes and  illustrations. 

The  social  position  of  Goldsmith  had  undergone  a  material 
change  since  the  publication  of  The  Traveller.  Before  that 
event  he  was  but  partially  known  as  the  author  of  some  clever 
anonymous  writings,  and  had  been  a  tolerated  member  of  the 
club  and  the  Johnson  circle,  without  much  being  expected  from 
him.  Now  he  had  suddenly  risen  to  literary  fame,  and  become 
one  of  the  lions  of  the  day.  The  highest  regions  of  intellectual 
society  were  now  open  to  him ;  but  he  was  not  prepared  to  move 
in  them  with  confidence  and  success.  Ballymahon  had  not  been 
a  good  school  of  manners  at  the  outset  of  life ;  nor  had  his  expe- 
rience as  a  '  poor  student '  at  colleges  and  medical  schools  con- 
tributed to  give  him  the  polish  of  society.  He  had  brought  from 
Ireland,  as  he  said,  nothing  but  his  "  brogue  and  his  blunders," 
and  they  had  never  left  him.  He  had  travelled,  it  is  true ;  but 
the  Continental  tour  which  in  those  days  gave  the  finishing  grace  to 
the  education  of  a  patrician  youth,  had,  with  poor  Groldsmith,  been 
little  better  than  a  course  of  literary  vagabondizing.  It  had  en- 
riched his  mind,  deepened  and  widened  the  benevolence  of  his 
heart,  and  filled  his  memory  with  enchanting  pictures,  but  it  had 


184  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


contributed  little  to  disciplining  him  for  the  polite  intercourse  of 
the  world.  His  life  in  London  had  hitherto  been  a  struggle  with 
sordid  cares  and  sad  humiliations.  ''  You  scarcely  can  conceive," 
wrote  he  some  time  previously  to  his  brother,  "  how  much  eight 
years  of  disappointment,  anguish,  and  study,  have  worn  me 
down."  Several  more  years  had  since  been  added  to  the  term 
during  which  he  had  trod  the  lowly  walks  of  life.  He  had  been 
a  tutor,  an  apothecary's  drudge,  a  petty  physician  of  the  suburbs, 
a  bookseller's  hack,  drudging  for  daily  bread.  Each  separate 
walk  had  been  beset  by  its  peculiar  thorns  and  humiliations.  It 
A  is  wonderful  how  his  heart  retained  its  gentleness  and  kindness 
through  all  these  trials ;  how  his  mind  rose  above  the  "  mean- 
nesses of  poverty,"  to  which,  as  he  says,  he  was  compelled  to 
submit ;  but  it  would  be  still  more  wonderful,  had  his  manners 
acquired  a  tone  corresponding  to  the  innate  grace  and  refinement 
of  his  intellect.  He  was  near  forty  years  of  age  when  he  pub- 
lished The  Traveller,  and  was  lifted  by  it  into  celebrity.  As  is 
beautifully  said  of  him  by  one  of  his  biographers,  "  he  has  fought 
his  way  to  consideration  and  esteem  ;  but  he  bears  upon  him  the 
scars  of  his  twelve  years'  conflict ;  of  the  mean  sorrows  through 
which  he  has  passed  ;  and  of  the  cheap  indulgences  he  has  sought 
relief  and  help  from.  There  is  nothing  plastic  in  his  nature 
now.  His  manners  and  habits  are  completely  formed ;  and  in 
them  any  further  success  can  make  little  favorable  change,  what- 
ever it  may  effect  for  his  mind  or  genius."* 

We  are  not  to  be  surprised,  therefore,  at  finding  him  make  an 
awkward  figure  in  the  elegant  drawing-rooms  which  were  now  open 
to  him,  and  disappointing  those  who  had  formed  an  idea  of  him 
from  the  fascinating  ease  and  gracefulness  of  his  poetry. 

*  Foster's  Goldsmith. 


JOHNSON'S  CONVERSATIO 


Even  the  literary  club,  and  the  circle  of  which  it  formed  a 
part,  after  their  surprise  at  the  intellectual  flights  of  which  he 
showed  himself  capable,  fell  into  a  conventional  mode  of  judging 
and  talking  of  him,  and  of  placing  him  in  absurd  and  whimsical 
points  of  view.  His  very  celebrity  operated  here  to  his  disadvan- 
tage. It  brought  him  into  continual  comparison  with  Johnson, 
who  was  the  oracle  of  that  circle  and  had  given  it  a  tone.  Con- 
versation was  the  great  staple  there,  and  of  this  Johnson  was  a 
master.  He  had  been  a  reader  and  thinker  from  childhood  :  his 
melancholy  temperament,  which  unfitted  him  for  the  pleasures  of 
youth,  had  made  him  so.  For  many  years  past  the  vast  variety  of 
works  he  had  been  obliged  to  consult  in  preparing  his  Dictionary, 
had  stored  an  uncommonly  retentive  memory  with  facts  on  all 
kinds  of  subjects  ;  making  it  a  perfect  colloquial  armory.  '•  He 
had  all  his  life,"  says  Boswell,  "habituated  himself  to  consider 
conversation  as  a  trial  of  intellectual  vigor  and  skill.  He  had 
disciplined  himself  as  a  talker  as  well  as  a  writer,  making  it  a 
rule  to  impart  whatever  he  knew  in  the  most  forcible  language  he 
could  put  it  in,  so  that  by  constant  practice  and  never  suffering 
any  careless  expression  to  escape  him,  he  had  attained  an  extraor- 
dinary accuracy  and  command  of  language." 

His  common  conversation  in  all  companies,  according  to  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  was  such  as  to  secure  him  universal  attention, 
something  above  the  usual  colloquial  style  being  always  expected 
from  him. 

"  I  do  not  care,"  said  Orme,  the  historian  of  Hindostan, 
"  on  what  subject  Johnson  talks  ;  but  I  love  better  to  hear  him 
talk  than  any  body.  He  either  gives  you  new  thoughts  or  a  new 
coloring." 

A  stronger  and  more  graphic  eulogium  is  given  by  Dr.  Percy. 


186  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


"  The  conversation  of  Johnson,"  says  he,  "  is  strong  and  clear, 
and  may  be  compared  to  an  antique  statue,  where  every  vein  and 
muscle  is  distinct  and  clear." 

Such  was  the  colloquial  giant  with  which  Goldsmith's  cele- 
brity and  his  habits  of  intimacy  brought  him  into  continual  com- 
parison ;  can  we  wonder  that  he  should  appear  to  disadvantage 
Conversation  grave,  discursive  and  disputatious,  such  as  Johnson 
excelled  and  delighted  in,  was  to  him  a  severe  task,  and  he  never 
was  good  at  a  task  of  any  kind.  He  had  not,  like  Johnson,  a 
vast  fund  of  acquired  facts  to  draw  upon ;  nor  a  retentive  me- 
mory to  furnish  them  forth  when  wanted.  He  could  not,  like 
the  great  lexicographer,  mould  his  ideas  and  balance  his  periods 
while  talking.  He  had  a  flow  of  ideas,  but  it  was  apt  to  be 
hurried  and  confused,  and  as  he  said  of  himself,  he  had  contracted 
a  hesitating  and  disagreeable  manner  of  speaking.  He  used  to 
say  that  he  always  argued  best  when  he  argued  alone ;  that  is  to 
say,  he  could  master  a  subject  in  his  study,  with  his  pen  in  his 
hand  ;  but,  when  he  came  into  company  he  grew  confused,  and 
was  unable  to  talk  about  it.  Johnson  made  a  remark  concerning 
him  to  somewhat  of  the  same  purport.  "  No  man,"  said  he,  "  is 
more  foolish  than  Goldsmith  when  he  has  not  a  pen  in  his  hand, 
or  more  wise  when  he  has."  Yet  with  all  this  conscious  defi- 
ciency he  was  continually  getting  involved  in  colloquial  contests 
with  Johnson  and  other  prime  talkers  of  the  literary  circle. 
He  felt  that  he  had  become  a  notoriety  ;  that  he  had  entered  the 
lists  and  was  expected  to  make  fight;  so  with  that  heedlessness 
which  characterized  him  in  every  thing  else  he  dashed  on  at  a 
venture ;  trusting  to  chance  in  this  as  in  other  things,  and  hoping 
occasionally  to  make  a  lucky  hit.  Johnson  perceived  his  hap- 
hazard temerity,  but  gave  him  no  credit  for  the  real  diflidence 


GOLDSMITH'S  CONVERSATION.  187 


which  lay  at  bottom.  "  The  misfortune  of  Goldsmith  in  conver- 
sation," said  he,  "  is  this,  he  goes  on  without  knowing  how  he  is 
to  get  off  His  genius  is  great,  but  his  knowledge  is  small.  As 
they  say  of  a  generous  man  it  is  a  pity  he  is  not  rich,  we  may 
say  of  Goldsmith  it  is  a  pity  he  is  not  knowing.  He  would  not 
keep  his  knowledge  to  himself."  And,  on  another  occasion,  he 
observes  :  "  Goldsmith,  rather  than  not  talk,  will  talk  of  what  he 
knows  himself  to  be  ignorant,  which  can  only  end  in  exposing 
him.  If  in  company  with  two  founders,  he  would  fall  a  talking 
on  the  method  of  making  cannon,  though  both  of  them  would 
soon  see  that  he  did  not  know  what  metal  a  cannon  is  made  of." 
And  again  :  "  Goldsmith  should  not  be  for  ever  attempting  to  shine 
in  conversation  ;  he  has  not  temper  for  it,  he  is  so  much  mortified 
when  he  fails.  Sir,  a  game  of  jokes  is  composed  partly  of  skill, 
partly  of  chance ;  a  man  may  be  beat  at  times  by  one  who  has 
not  the  tenth  part  of  his  wit.  Now  Goldsmith,  putting  himself 
against  another,  is  like  a  man  laying  a  hundred  to  one,  who  can- 
not spare  the  hundred.  It  is  not  worth  a  man's  while.  A  man 
should  not  lay  a  hundred  to  one  unless  he  can  easily  spare  it, 
though  he  has  a  hundred  chances  for  him ;  he  can  get  but  a 
guinea,  and  he  may  lose  a  hundred.  Goldsmith  is  in  this  state. 
When  he  contends,  if  he  gets  the  better,  it  is  a  very  little  addi- 
tion to  a  man  of  his  literary  reputation ;  if  he  does  not  get  the 
better,  he  is  miserably  vexed." 

Johnson  was  not  aware  how  much  he  was  himself  to  blame  in 
producing  this  vexation.  "Goldsmith,"  said  Miss  Reynolds, 
"  always  appeared  to  be  overawed  by  Johnson,  particularly  when 
in  company  with  people  of  any  consequence ;  always  as  if  im- 
pressed with  fear  of  disgrace ;  and  indeed  well  he  might.     I  have 


188  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


been  witness  to  many  mortifications  lie  has  suffered  in  Dr.  John- 
son's company." 

It  may  not  have  been  disgrace  that  he  feared,  but  rudeness. 
The  great  lexicographer,  spoiled  by  the  homage  of  society,  was 
still  more  prone  than  himself  to  lose  temper  when  the  argument 
went  against  him.  He  could  not  brook  appearing  to  be  worsted ; 
but  would  attempt  to  bear  down  his  adversary  by  the  rolling 
thunder  of  his  periods ;  and,  when  that  failed,  would  become 
downright  insulting.  Boswell  called  it  "  having  recourse  to  some 
sudden  mode  of  robust  sophistry ;"  but  Goldsmith  designated  it 
much  more  happily.  "  There  is  no  arguing  with  Johnson,"  said 
he,  "yw*,  when  his  pistol  misses  Jirc^  lie  knocks  you  down  with  tJve 
butt  end  of  itP* 

In  several  of  the  intellectual  collisions  recorded  by  Boswell 
as  triumphs  of  Dr.  Johnson,  it  really  appears  to  us  that  Gold- 
smith had  the  best  both  of  the  wit  and  the  argument,  and  espe- 
cially of  the  courtesy  and  good-nature. 

On  one  occasion  he  certainly  gave  Johnson  a  capital  reproof 
as  to  his  own  colloquial  peculiarities.  Talking  of  fables.  Gold- 
smith observed  that  the  animals  introduced  in  them  seldom  talked 
iu  character.  "  For  instance,"  said  he,  "  the  fable  of  the  little 
fishes,  who  saw  birds  fly  over  their  heads,  and,  envying  them, 
petitioned  Jupiter  to  be  changed  into  birds.  The  skill  consists 
in  making  them  talk  like  little  fishes."  Just  then  observing  that 
Dr.  Johnson  was  shaking  his  sides  and  laughing,  he  immediately 

*  The  following  is  given  by  Boswell,  as  an  instance  of  robust  sophistry: — 
"  Once,  when  I  was  pressing  upon  him  with  visible  advantage,  he  stopped  me 
thus — *  My  dear  Boswell,  let's  have  no  more  of  this  ;  you'll  make  nothing  of  it. 
I'd  rather  hear  you  whistle  a  Scotch  tune.'  " 


THE  SHE-BEAR  AND  THE  HE-BEAR.  189 


added,  "  Why,  Dr.  Johnson,  this  is  not  so  easy  as  you  seem  to 
think ;  for,  if  you  were  to  make  little  fishes  talk,  they  would  talk 
like  whales." 

But  though  Goldsmith  sufi*ered  frequent  mortifications  in 
society  from  the  overbearing,  and  sometimes  harsh,  conduct  of 
Johnson,  he  always  did  justice  to  his  benevolence.  When  roytil 
pensions  were  granted  to  Dr.  Johnson  and  Dr.  Shebbeare,  a  pun- 
ster remarked,  that  the  king  had  pensioned  a  sJie-bear  and  a  he- 
hear;  to  which  Goldsmith  replied,  "Johnson,  to  be  sure,  has  a 
roughness  in  his  mnaner,  but  no  man  alive  has  a  more  tender 
heart.     He  has  nothing  oftJie  bear  but  the  skin." 

Goldsmith,  in  conversation,  shone  most  when  he  least  thought 
of  shining  ;  when  he  gave  up  all  effort  to  appear  wise  and  learned, 
or  to  cope  with  the  oracular  sententiousness  of  Johnson,  and  gave 
way  to  his  natural  impulses.  Even  Boswell  could  perceive  his 
merits  on  these  occasions.  "  For  my  part,"  said  he,  condescend- 
ingly, "  I  like  very  well  to  hear  honest  Goldsmith  talk  away 
carelessly  ;"  and  many  a  much  wiser  man  than  Boswell  delighted 
in  those  outpourings  of  a  fertile  fancy  and  a  generous  heart  In 
his  happy  moods,  Goldsmith  had  an  artless  simplicity  and  buoy- 
ant good-humor,  that  led  to  a  thousand  amusing  blunders  and 
whimsical  confessions,  much  to  the  entertainment  of  his  intimates; 
yet,  in  his  most  thoughtless  garrulity,  there  was  occasionally  the 
gleam  of  the  gold  and  the  flash  of  the  diamond. 


190  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Social  resorts. — The  shilling  whist  club, — A  practical  joke. — The  Wednesday 
club. — The  '  tun  of  man.' — The  pig  butcher. — Tom  King. — Hugh  Kelly.— 
Glover  and  his  characteristics. 

Though  Goldsmith's  pride  and  ambition  led  him  to  mingle  occa- 
sionally with  high  society,  and  to  engage  in  the  colloquial  con- 
flicts of  the  learned  circle,  in  both  of  which  he  was  ill  at  ease 
and  conscious  of  being  undervalued,  yet  he  had  some  social  re- 
sorts in  which  he  indemnified  himself  for  their  restraints  by 
indulging  his  humor  without  control.  One  of  them  was  a  shilling 
whist  club,  which  held  its  meetings  at  the  Devil  Tavern,  near 
Temnle  Bar,  a  place  rendered  classic,  we  are  told,  by  a  club  held 
th  aies,  to  which  "  rare  Ben  Jonson  "  had  furnished 

the  rules.  The  company  was  of  a  familiar,  unceremonious  kind, 
delighting  in  that  very  questionable  wit  which  consists  in  playing 
off  practical  jokes  upon  each  other.  Of  one  of  these  Goldsmith 
was  made  the  butt.  Coming  to  the  club  one  night  in  a  hackney 
coach,  he  gave  the  coachman  by  mistake  a  guinea  instead  of  a 
shilling,  which  he  set  down  as  a  dead  loss,  for  there  was  no  like- 
lihood, he  said,  that  a  fellow  of  this  class  would  have  the  honesty 
to  return  the  money.  On  tlie  next  club  evening  he  was  told  a 
person  at  the  street  door  wished  to  speak  witli  mm.  He  went 
forth  but  soon  returned  with  a  radiant  countenance.     To  his  sur- 


A  PRACTICAL  JOKE.  191 


prise  and  delight  the  coachman  had  actually  brought  back  the 
guinea.  While  he  launched  forth  in  praise  of  this  unlooked-for 
piece  of  honesty,  he  declared  it  ought  not  to  go  unrewarded. 
Collecting  a  small  sum  from  the  club,  and  no  doubt  increasing  it 
largely  from  his  own  purse,  he  dismissed  the  Jehu  with  many 
encomiums  on  his  good  conduct.  He  was  still  chanting  his 
praises,  when  one  of  the  club  requested  a  sight  of  the  guinea 
thus  honestly  returned.  To  Goldsmith's  confusion  it  proved 
to  be  a  counterfeit.  The  universal  burst  of  laughter  which 
succeeded,  and  the  jokes  by  which  he  was  assailed  on  every 
side,  showed  him  that  the  whole  was  a  hoax,  and  the  pretended 
coachman  as  much  a  counterfeit  as  the  guinea.  He  was  so 
disconcerted,  it  is  said,  that  he  soon  beat  a  retreat  for  the 
evening. 

Another  of  those  free  and  easy  clubs  met  on  Wednesday 
evenings  at  the  Grlobe  Tavern  in  Fleet-street.  It  was  somewhat  in 
the  style  of  the  Three  Jolly  Pigeons  :  songs,  jokes,  dramatic  imi- 
tations, burlesque  parodies  and  broad  sallies  of  humor,  formed  a 
contrast  to  the  sententious  morality,  pedantic  casuistry,  and 
polished  sarcasm  of  the  learned  circle.  Here  a  huge  ' '  of 
man,'  by  the  name  of  Gordon,  used  to  delight  Goldsmith  by 
singing  the  jovial  song  of  Nottingham  Ale,  and  looking  like  a 
butt  of  it.  Here,  too,  a  wealthy  pig  butcher,  charmed,  no  doubt, 
by  the  mild  philanthropy  of  The  Traveller,  aspired  to  be  on  the 
most  sociable  footing  with  the  author,  and  here  was  Tom  King,  the 
comedian,  recently  risen  to  consequence  by  his  perforiiiance  of 
Lord  Ogleby  in  the  new  comedy  of  the  Clandestine  Marriage. 

A  member  of  more  note  was  one  Hugh  Kelly,  a  second-rate 
author,  who,  as  he  became  a  kind  of  competitor  of  Goldsmith's, 
deserves  particular  mention.     He  was  an  Irishman,  about  twenty- 


192  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


eight  years  of  age,  originally  apprenticed  to  a  staymaker  in  Dub- 
lin ;  then  writer  to  a  London  attorney  ;  then  a  Grrub-street  hack  ; 
scribbling  for  magazines  and  newspapers.  Of  late  he  had  set  up 
for  theatrical  censor  and  satirist,  and,  in  a  paper  called  Thespis, 
in  emulation  of  Churchill's  Rosciad,  had  harassed  many  of  the 
poor  actors  without  mercy,  and  often  without  wit ;  but  had 
lavished  his  incense  on  Garrick,  who,  in  consequence,  took  him 
into  favor.  He  was  the  author  of  several  works  of  superficial 
merit,  but  which  had  sufficient  vogue  to  inflate  his  vanity.  This, 
however,  must  have  been  mortified  on  his  first  introduction  to 
Johnson ;  after  sitting  a  short  time  he  got  up  to  take  leave,  ex- 
pressing a  fear  that  a  longer  visit  might  be  troublesome.  "  Not 
in  the  least,  sir,"  said  the  surly  moralist,  "  I  had  forgotten  you 
were  in  the  room."  Johnson  used  to  speak  of  him  as  a  man  who 
had  written  more  than  he  had  read. 

A  prime  wag  of  this  club  was  one  of  Groldsmith's  poor  coun- 
trymen and  hangers-on,  by  the  name  of  Glover.  He  had  origi- 
nally been  educated  for  the  medical  profession,  but  had  taken  in 
early  life  to  the  stage,  though  apparently  without  much  success. 
While  performing  at  Cork,  he  undertook,  partly  in  jest,  to  restore 
life  to  the  body  of  a  malefactor,  who  had  just  been  executed. 
To  the  astonishment  of  every  one.  himself  among  the  number, 
he  succeeded.  The  miracle  took  wind.  He  abandoned  the  stage, 
resumed  the  wig  and  cane,  and  considered  his  fortune  as  secure. 
Unluckily,  there  were  not  many  dead  people  to  be  restored  to 
life  in  Ireland ;  his  practice  did  not  equal  his  expectation,  so  he 
came  to  London,  where  he  continued  to  dabble  indifferently,  and 
rather  unprofitably,  in  physic  and  literature. 

He  was  a  great  frequenter  of  the  Globe  and  Devil  taverns, 
where  he  used  to  amuse  the  company  by  his  talent  at  story-telling 


THE  SOCIAL  PIG-BUTCHER.  193 


and  his  powers  of  mimicry,  giving  capital  imitations  of  Garrick, 
Foote,  Coleman,  Sterne,  and  other  public  characters  of  the  day.  He 
seldom  happened  to  have  money  enough  to  pay  his  reckoning,  but 
was  always  sure  to  find  some  ready  purse  among  those  who  had  been 
amused  by  his  humors.  Goldsmith,  of  course,  was  one  of  the 
readiest.  It  was  through  him  that  Glover  was  admitted  to  tl:6 
Wednesday  Club,  of  which  his  theatrical  imitations  became  the 
delight.  Glover,  however,  was  a  little  anxious  for  the  dignity  of 
his  patron,  which  appeared  to  him  to  suffer  from  the  over-fami- 
liarity of  some  of  the  members  of  the  club.  He  was  especially 
shocked  by  the  free  and  easy  tone  in  which  Goldsmith  was  ad- 
dressed by  the  pig-butcher :  "  Come,  Noll,"  would  he  say,  as  he 
pledged  him,  "  here's  my  service  to  you,  old  boy  !" 

Glover  whispered  to  Goldsmith,  that  he  "  should  not  allow 
such  liberties."  "  Let  him  alone,"  was  the  reply,  "  you'll  see  how 
civilly  I'll  let  him  down."  After  a  time,  he  called  out,  with 
marked  ceremony  and  politeness,  "  Mr.  B.,  I  have  the  honor  of 
drinking  your  good  health."  Alas  !  dignity  was  not  poor  Gold- 
smith's forte:  he  could  keep  no  one  at  a  distance  "  Thank'ee, 
thank'ee,  Noll,"  nodded  the  pig-butcher,  scarce  taking  the  pipe 
out  of  his  mouth.  "  I  don't  see  the  effect  of  your  reproof,"  whis- 
pered Glover.  "  T  give  it  up,"  replied  Goldsmith,  with  a  good- 
humored  shrug,  "  I  ought  to  have  known  before  now  there  is  no 
putting  a  pig  in  the  right  way," 

Johnson  used  to  be  severe  upon  Goldsmith  for  mingling  in 

these  motley  circles,  observing,  that,  having  been  originally  poor, 

he  had  contracted  a  love  for  low  company.     Goldsmith,  however, 

was  guided  not  by  a  taste  for  what  was  low,  but  for  what  was 

comic  and  characteristic.     It  was  the  feeling  of  the  artist ;  the 

feeling  which  furnished  out  some  of  his  best  scenes  in  familiar 

9 


194  OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 


life  ;  the  feeling  with  which  '•  rare  Ben  Jonson"  sought  these  very 
haunts  and  circles  in  days  of  yore,  to  study  "  Every  Man  in  his 
Humor." 

It  was  not  always,  however,  that  the  humor  of  these  associates 
was  to  his  taste :  as  they  became  boisterous  in  their  merriment, 
he  was  apt  to  become  depressed.  "  The  company  of  fools,"  says 
he,  in  one  of  his  essays,  "  may  at  first  make  us  smile ;  but  at  last 
never  fails  of  making  us  melancholy."  "  Often  he  would  become 
moody,"  says  Glover,  "  and  would  leave  the  party  abruptly  to  go 
home  and  brood  over  his  misfortune." 

It  is  possible,  how^ever,  that  he  went  home  for  quite  a  different 
purpose  ;  to  commit  to  paper  some  scene  or  passage  suggested  for 
his  comedy  of  '•  The  Grood-natured  Man."  The  elaboration  of  humor 
is  often  a  most  serious  task  ;  and  we  have  never  witnessed  a  more 
perfect  picture  of  mental  misery  than  was  once  presented  to  us 
by  a  popular  dramatic  writer — still,  we  hope,  living — whom  we 
found  in  the  agonies  of  producing  a  farce  which  subsequently  set 
the  theatres  in  a  roar. 


THE   GREAT  CHAM  AND  THE   KING.  195 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  Great  Cham  of  literature  and  the  King. — Scene  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's. 
— Goldsmith  accused  of  jealousy. — Negotiations  with  Garrick. — The  au- 
thor and  the  actor — their  correspondence. 

The  comedy  of  "The  Good-natured  Man"  was  completed  by 
Goldsmith  early  in  1767,  and  submitted  to  the  perusal  of  John- 
son, Burke,  Reynolds,  and  others  of  the  literary  club,  by  whom 
it  was  heartily  approved.  Johnson,  who  was  seldom  half  way 
either  in  censure  or  applause,  pronounced  it  the  best  comedy 
that  had  been  written  since  "  The  Provoked  Husband,"  and 
promished  to  furnish  the  prologue.  This  immediately  became 
an  object  of  great  solicitude  with  Goldsmith,  knowing  the  weight 
an  introduction  from  the  Great  Cham  of  literature  would  have 
with  the  public ;  but  circumstances  occurred  which  he  feared 
might  drive  the  comedy  and  the  prologue  from  Johnson's 
thoughts.  The  latter  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  the  royal 
library  at  the  Queen's  (Buckingham)  House,  a  noble  collection 
of  books,  in  the  formation  of  which  he  had  assisted  the  librarian, 
Mr.  Bernard,  with  his  advice.  One  evening,  as  he  was  seated 
there  by  the  fire  reading,  he  was  surprised  by  the  entrance  of 
the  King  (George  III.),  then  a  young  man  ;  who  sought  this 
occasion  to  have  a  conversation  with  him.  The  conversation 
was  varied  and  discursive;  the  King  shifting  from  subject  to 
subject  according  to  his  wont;  "during  the  whole  interview," 


196  OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 


says  Boswell,  "  Johnson  talked  to  his  majesty  with  profound  re- 
spect, but  still  in  his  open,  manly  manner,  with  a  sonorous  voice, 
and  never  in  that  subdued  tone  which  is  commonly  used  at  the 
levee  and  in  the  drawing-room.  '  I  found  his  majesty  wished  I 
should  talk,'  said  he,  '  and  I  made  it  my  business  to  talk.  I  find 
it  does  a  man  good  to  be  talked  to  by  his  sovereign.  In  the  first 
place,  a  man  cannot  be  in  a  passion — .'  "  It  would  have  been  well 
for  Johnson's  colloquial  disputants,  could  he  have  often  been 
under  such  decorous  restraint.  Profoundly  monarchical  in  his 
principles,  he  retired  from  the  interview  highly  gratified  with  the 
conversation  of  the  King  and  with  his  gracious  behavior.  "  Sir," 
said  he  to  the  librarian,  "  they  may  talk  of  the  King  as  they  will, 
but  he  is  the  finest  gentleman  I  have  ever  seen." — "  Sir,"  said  he 
subsequently  to  Bennet  Langton,  "  his  manners  are  those  of  as 
fine  a  gentleman  as  we  may  suppose  Lewis  the  Fourteenth  or 
Charles  the  Second." 

While  Johnson's  face  was  still  radiant  with  the  reflex  of  roy- 
alty, he  was  holding  forth  one  day  to  a  listening  group  at  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds's,  who  were  anxious  to  hear  every  particular  of 
this  memorable  conversation.  Among  other  questions,  the  King 
had  asked  him  whether  he  was  writing  any  thing.  His  reply  was, 
that  he  thought  he  had  already  done  his  part  as  a  writer.  "  I 
should  have  thought  so  too,"  said  the  King,  "  if  you  had  not 
written  so  well." — "  No  man,"  said  Johnson,  commenting  on  this 
speech,  "  could  have  made  a  handsomer  compliment ;  and  it  was 
fit  for  a  King  to  pay.  It  was  decisive." — '•  But  did  you  make 
no  reply  to  this  high  compliment?"  asked  one  of  the  company. 
"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  profoundly  deferential  Johnson,  "  when 
the  King  had  said  it,  it  was  to  be  so.  It  was  not  for  me  to 
bandy  civilities  with  my  sovereign." 


BOSWELL  AT  FAULT.  197 


During  all  the  time  that  Johnson  was  thus  holding  forth, 
Goldsmith,  who  was  present,  appeared  to  take  no  interest  in  the 
royal  theme,  but  remained  seated  on  a  sofa  at  a  distance,  in 
a  moody  fit  of  abstraction ;  at  length  recollecting  himself,  he 
sprang  up.  and  advancing,  exclaimed,  with  what  Boswell  calls  his 
usual  "  frankness  and  simplicity,"  "  Well,  you  acquitted  yourself 
in  this  conversation  better  than  I  should  have  done,  for  I  should 
have  bowed  and  stammered  through  the  whole  of  it."  He  after- 
wards explained  his  seeming  inattention,  by  saying  that  his  mind 
was  completely  occupied  about  his  play,  and  by  fears  lest  John- 
son, in  his  present  state  of  royal  excitement,  would  fail  to  furnish 
the  much-desired  prologue. 

How  natural  and  truthful  is  this  explanation.  Yet  Boswell 
presumes  to  pronounce  Goldsmith's  inattention  aifected ;  and 
attributes  it  to  jealousy.  "  It  was  strongly  suspected,"  says  he, 
"  that  he  was  fretting  with  chagrin  and  envy  at  the  singular 
honor  Dr.  Johnson  had  lately  enjoyed."  It  needed  the  little- 
ness of  mind  of  Boswell  to  ascribe  such  pitiful  motives  to  Gold- 
smith, and  to  entertain  such  exaggerated  notions  of  the  honor 
paid  to  Dr.  Johnson. 

"  The  Good-natured  Man "  was  now  ready  for  performance, 
but  the  question  was,  how  to  get  it  upon  the  stage.  The  afi"airs 
of  Covent  Garden,  for  which  it  had  been  intended,  were  thrown 
in  confusion  by  the  recent  death  of  Rich,  the  manager.  Drury 
Lane  was  under  tl)e  management  of  Garrick,  but  a  feud,  it  will 
be  recollected,  existed  between  him  and  the  poet,  from  the  ani- 
madversions of  the  latter  on  the  mismanagement  of  theatrical 
affairs,  and  the  refusal  of  the  former  to  give  the  poet  his  vote  for 
the  secretaryship  of  the  Society  of  Arts.  Times,  however,  were 
changed.     Goldsmith  when  that  feud  took  place  was  an  anony- 


198  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


mous  writer,  almost  unknown  to  fame,  and  of  no  circulation  in 
society.  Now  he  had  become  a  literary  lion  ;  he  was  a  member 
of  the  Literary  Club ;  he  was  the  associate  of  Johnson,  Burke, 
Tophara  Beauclerc,  and  other  magnates — in  a  word,  he  had  risen 
to  consequence  in  the  public  eye,  and  of  course  was  of  conse- 
quence in  the  eyes  of  David  Grarrick.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  saw 
the  lurking  scruples  of  pride  existing  between  the  author  and 
actor,  and  thinking  it  a  pity  that  two  men  of  such  congenial 
talents,  and  who  might  be  so  serviceable  to  each  other,  should  be 
kept  asunder  by  a  worn-out  pique,  exerted  his  friendly  offices  to 
bring  them  together.  The  meeting  took  place  in  Reynolds's 
house  in  Leicester  Square.  Grarrick,  however,  could  not  entirely 
put  off  the  mock  majesty  of  the  stage ;  he  meant  to  be  civil,  but 
he  was  rather  too  gracious  and  condescending.  Tom  Davies,  in 
his  "Life  of  Garrick,"  gives  an  amusing  picture  of  the  coming 
together  of  these  punctilious  parties.  "  The  manager,"  says  he, 
'•was  fully  conscious  of  his  (Goldsmith's)  merit,  and  perhaps 
more  ostentatious  of  his  abilities  to  serve  a  dramatic  author  than 
became  a  man  of  his  prudence ;  Goldsmith  was,  on  his  side,  as 
fully  persuaded  of  his  own  importance  and  independent  greatness. 
Mr.  Garrick,  who  had  so  long  been  treated  with  the  compliment- 
ary language  paid  to  a  successful  patentee  and  admired  actor, 
expected  that  the  writer  would  esteem  the  patronage  of  his  play 
a  favor ;  Goldsmith  rejected  all  ideas  of  kindness  in  a  bargain 
that  was  intended  to  be  of  mutual  advantage  to  both  parties,  and 
in  this  he  was  certainly  justifiable  ;  Mr.  Garrick  could  reasonably 
expect  no  thanks  for  the  acting  a  new  play,  which  he  would  have 
rejected  if  he  had  not  been  convinced  it  would  have  amply 
rewarded  his  pains  and  expense.  I  believe  the  manager  was 
willing  to  accept  the  play,  but  he  wished  to  be  courted  to  it ; 


NEGOTIATIONS  WITH  GARRICK.  199 


and  the  doctor  was  not  disposed  to  purchase  his  friendship  by 
the  resignation  of  his  sincerity."  They  separated,  however,  with 
an  understanding  on  the  part  of  Goldsmith  that  his  play  would 
be  acted.  The  conduct  of  Grarrick  subsequently  proved  evasive, 
not  through  any  lingerings  of  past  hostility,  but  from  habitual 
indecision  in  matters  of  the  kind,  and  from  real  scruples  of  deli- 
cacy. He  did  not  think  the  piece  likely  to  succeed  on  the  stage, 
and  avowed  that  opinion  to  Reynolds  and  Johnson ;  but  hesi- 
tated to  say  as  much  to  Groldsmith,  through  fear  of  wounding  his 
feelings.  A  further  misunderstanding  was  the  result  of  this 
want  of  decision  and  frankness ;  repeated  interviews  and  some 
correspondence  took  place  without  bringing  matters  to  a  point, 
and  in  the  meantime  the  theatrical  season  passed  away. 

Goldsmith's  pocket,  never  well  supplied,  sufFr3red  grievously 
by  this  delay,  and  he  considered  himself  entitled  to  call  upon  the 
manager,  who  still  talked  of  acting  the  play,  to  advance  him  forty 
pounds  upon  a  note  of  the  younger  Newbery.  Garrick  readily 
complied,  but  subsequently  suggested  certain  important  altera- 
tions in  the  comedy  as  indispensable  to  its  success ;  these  were 
indignantly  rejected  by  the  author,  but  pertinaciously  insisted 
on  by  the  manager.  Garrick  proposed  to  leave  the  matter  to  the 
arbitration  of  Whitehead,  the  laureate,  who  officiated  as  his 
'•reader"  and  elbow  critic.  Goldsmith  was  more  indignant  than 
ever,  and  a  violent  dispute  ensued,  which  was  only  calmed  by  the 
interference  of  Burke  and  Reynolds. 

Just  at  this  time,  order  came  out  of  confusion  in  the  affairs 
of  Covent  Garden.  A  pique  having  risen  between  Colman  and 
Garrick,  in  the  course  of  their  joint  authorship  of  "  The  Clan- 
destine Marriage,"  the  former  had  become  manager  and  part 
proprietor  of    Covent    Garden,  and  was  preparing  to  open  a 


200  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


powerful  competition  with  his  former  colleague.  On  hearing  of 
this,  Goldsmith  made  overtures  to  Colman ;  who,  without  wait- 
ing to  consult  his  fellow  proprietors,  who  were  absent,  gave 
instantly  a  favorable  reply.  Goldsmith  felt  the  contrast  of  this 
warm,  encouraging  conduct,  to  the  chilling  delays  and  objections 
of  Garrick.  He  at  once  abandoned  his-piece  to  the  discretion  of 
Colman.  "Dear  sir,"  says  he  in  a  letter  dated  Temple  Garden 
Court,  July  9th,  "  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind 
partiality  in  my  favor,  and  your  tenderness  in  shortening  the 
interval  of  my  expectation.  That  the  play  is  liable  to  many 
objections  I  well  know,  but  I  am  happy  that  it  is  in  haiids  the 
most  capable  in  the  world  of  removing  them.  If  then,  dear  sir, 
you  will  complete  your  favor  by  putting  the  piece  into  such  a 
state  as  it  may  be  acted,  or  of  directing  me  how  to  do  it,  I  shall 
ever  retain  a  sense  of  your  goodness  to  me.  And  indeed,  though 
most  probably  this  be  the  last  I  shall  ever  write,  yet  I  can't  help 
feeling  a  secret  satisfaction  that  poets  for  the  future  are  likely 
to  have  a  protector  who  declines  taking  advantage  of  their  dread- 
ful situation  ;  and  scorns  that  importance  which  may  be  acquired 
by  trifling  with  their  anxieties," 

The  next  day  Goldsmith  wrote  to  Garrick,  who  was  at  Litch- 
field, informing  him  of  his  having  transferred  his  piece  to  Coveut 
Garden,  for  which  it  had  been  originally  written,  and  by  the 
patentee  of  which  it  was  claimed,  observing,  "  as  I  found  you  had 
very  great  difficulties  about  that  piece,  I  complied  with  his  desire. 
********!  am  extremely  sorry  that  you  should 
think  me  warm  at  our  last  meeting :  your  judgment  certainly 
ought  to  be  free,  especially  in  a  matter  which  must  in  some  mea- 
sure concern  your  own  credit  and  interest.  I  assure  you.  sir,  I 
have  no  disposition  to  differ  with  you  on  this  or  any  other  account,  but 


GARRICK'S  LETTER.  201 


am,  with  an  high  opinion  of  your  abilities,  and  a  very  real  esteem, 
Sir,  your  most  obedient  humble  servant.   Oliver  Goldsmith." 

In  his  reply,  Garrick  observed,  "  I  was,  indeed,  much  hurt  that 
your  warmth  at  our  last  meeting  mistook  my  sincere  and  friendly 
attention  to  your  play  for  the  remains  of  a  former  misunderstand- 
ing, which  I  had  as  much  forgot  as  if  it  had  never  existed.  What  I 
said  to  you  at  my  own  house  I  now  repeat,  that  I  felt  more  pain 
in  giving  my  sentiments  than  you  possibly  would  in  receiving 
them.  It  has  been  the  business,  and  ever  will  be,  of  my  life  to 
live  on  the  best  terms  with  men  of  genius ;  and  I  know  that  Dr. 
Goldsmith  will  have  no  reason  to  change  his  previous  friendly 
disposition  towards  me,  as  I  shall  be  glad  of  every  future  oppor- 
tunity to  convince  him  how  much  I  am  his  obedient  servant  and 
well-wisher.     D.  Garrick." 


90S     /  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

More  hack  authorship. — Tom  Davies  and  the  Roman  History. — Canonbury 
Castle. — Political  authorship. — Pecuniary  temptation. — Death  of  Newbery 
the  elder. 

Though  Goldsmith's  comedy  was  now  in  train  to  be  performed, 
it  could  not  be  brought  out  before  Christmas ;  in  the  meantime, 
he  must  live.  Again,  therefore,  he  had  to  resort  to  literary  jobs 
for  his  daily  support.  These  obtained  for  him  petty  occasional 
sums,  the  largest  of  which  was  ten  pounds,  from  the  elder  New- 
bery, for  an  historical  compilation ;  but  this  scanty  rill  of  quasi 
patronage,  so  sterile  in  its  products,  was  likely  soon  to  cease ; 
Newbery  being  too  ill  to  attend  to  business,  and  having  to  trans- 
fer the  whole  management  of  it  to  his  nephew. 

At  this  time  Tom  Davies,  the  sometime  Roscius,  sometime 
bibliopole,  stepped  forward  to  Goldsmith's  relief,  and  proposed 
that  he  should  undertake  an  easy  popular  history  of  Rome  in 
two  volumes.  An  arrangement  was  soon  made.  Goldsmith  un- 
dertook to  complete  it  in  two  years,  if  possible,  for  two  hundred 
and  fifty  guineas,  and  forthwith  set  about  his  task  with  cheerful 
alacrity.  As  usual,  he  sought  a  rural  retreat  during  the  summer 
months,  where  he  might  alternate  his  literary  labors  with  strolls 
about  the  green  fields.  "  Merry  Islington"  was  again  his  resort, 
but  he  now  aspired  to  better  quarters  than  formerly,  and  engaged 


CANONBURY  CASTLE.  203 


the  chambers  occupied  occasional!}^  by  Mr.  Newbery,  in  Canon- 
bury  House,  or  Castle,  as  it  is  popularly  called.  This  had  been 
a  hunting  lodge  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  whose  time  it  was  sur- 
rounded by  parks  and  forests.  In  Goldsmith's  day,  nothing 
remained  of  it  but  an  old  brick  tower  ;  it  was  still  in  the  country, 
amid  rural  scenery,  and  was  a  favorite  nestling-place  of  authors, 
publishers,  and  others  of  the  literary  order.*  A  number  of  these 
he  had  for  fellow  occupants  of  the  castle ;  and  they  formed  a  tem- 
porary club,  which  held  its  meetings  at  the  Crown  Tavern,  on  the 
Islington  lower  road ;  and  here  he  presided  in  his  own  genial 
style,  and  was  the  life  and  delight  of  the  company. 

The  writer  of  these  pages  visited  old  Canonbury  Castle  some 
years  since,  out  of  regard  to  the  memory  of  Goldsmith.  The 
apartment  was  still  shown  which  the  poet  had  inhabited,  consist- 
ing of  a  sitting-room  and  small  bedroom,  with  panneled  wain- 
scots and  Gothic  windows.  The  quaintness  and  quietude  of  the 
place  were  still  attractive.  It  was  one  of  the  resorts  of  citizens 
on  their  Sunday  walks,  who  would  ascend  to  the  top  of  the  tower 
and  amuse  themselves  with  reconnoitring  the  city  through  a  teles- 
cope.    Not  far  from  this  tower  were  the  gardens  of  the  White 

*  See  on  the  distant  slope,  majestic  shows 
Old  Canonbury's  tower,  an  ancient  pile 
To  various  fates  assigned  ;  and  where  by  turns 
Meanness  and  grandeur  have  alternate  reign'd  ; 
Thither,  in  latter  days,  hath  genius  fled 
From  yonder  city,  to  respire  and  die. 
There  the  sweet  bard  of  Auburn  sat,  and  tuned 
The  plaintive  moanings  of  his  village  dirge. 
There  learned  Chambers  treasured  lore  for  men, 
And  Newbery  there  his  A  B  C's  for  babes. 


204  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


Conduit  House,  a  Cockney  Elysium,  where  Goldsmith  used  to 
figure  in  the  humbler  days  of  his  fortune.  In  the  first  edition 
of  his  Essays  he  speaks  of  a  stroll  in  these  gardens,  where  he  at 
that  time,  no  doubt,  thought  himself  in  perfectly  genteel  society. 
After  his  rise  in  the  world,  however,  he  became  too  knowing  to 
speak  of  such  plebeian  haunts.  In  a  new  edition  of  his  Essays, 
therefore,  the  White  Conduit  House  and  its  garden  disappears, 
and  he  speaks  of  "  a  stroll  in  the  Park." 

While  Goldsmith  was  literally  livipg  from  hand  to  mouth  by 
the  forced  drudgery  of  the  pen,  his  independence  of  spirit  was 
subjected  to  a  sore  pecuniary  trial.  It  was  the  opening  of  Lord 
North's  administration,  a  time  of  great  political  excitement. 
The  public  mind  was  agitated  by  the  question  of  American  taxa- 
tion, and  other  questions  of  like  irritating  tendency.  Junius 
and  Wilkes  and  other  powerful  writers  were  attacking  the  admin- 
istration with  all  their  force ;  Grub-street  was  stirred  up  to  its 
lowest  depths ;  inflammatory  talent  of  all  kinds  was  in  full 
activity,  and  the  kingdom  was  deluged  with  pamphlets,  lampoons 
and  libels  of  the  grossest  kinds.  The  ministry  were  looking 
anxiously  round  for  literary  support.  It  was  thought  that  the 
pen  of  Goldsmith  might  be  readily  enlisted.  His  hospitable 
friend  and  countryman,  Ptobert  Nugent,  politically  known  as 
Sijuire  Gawky,  had  come  out  strenuously  for  colonial  taxation  ; 
had  been  selected  for  a  lordship  of  the  board  of  trade,  and  raised 
to  the  rank  of  Baron  Nugent  and  Viscount  Clare.  His  exam- 
ple, it  was  thought,  would  be  enough  of  itself,  to  bring  Goldsmith 
into  the  ministerial  ranks ;  and  then  what  writer  of  the  day  was 
proof  against  a  full  purse  or  a  pension  ?  Accordingly  one  Parson 
Scott,  chaplain  to  Lord  Sandwich,  and  author  of  Anti  Sejanus 
Panurge,  and  other  political  libels  in  support  of  the  administra- 


PECUNIARY  TEMPTATION.  205 


tion,  was  sent  to  negotiate  with  the  poet,  who  at  this  time  was 
returned  to  town.  Dr.  Scott,  in  after  years,  when  his  political 
subserviency  had  been  rewarded  by  two  fat  crown  livings,  used 
to  make,  what  he  considered,  a  good  story  out  of  this  embassy  to 
the  poet.  "  I  found  him,"  said  he,  "  in  a  miserable  suit  of  cham- 
bers in  the  Temple.  I  told  him  my  authority :  I  told  how  I  was 
empowered  to  pay  most  liberally  for  his  exertions ;  and,  would 
you  believe  it !  he  was  so  absurd  as  to  say  '  I  can  earn  as  much  as 
will  supply  my  wants  without  writing  for  any  party  ;  the  assist- 
ance you  offer  is  therefore  unnecessary  to  me  ;' — and  so  I  left  him 
in  his  garret !"  Who  does  not  admire  the  sturdy  independence 
of  poor  Goldsmith  toiling  in  his  garret  for  nine  guineas  the  job, 
and  smile  with  contempt  at  the  indignant  wonder  of  the  political 
divine,  albeit  his  subserviency  was  repaid  by  two  fat  crown 
livings  ? 

Not  long  after  this  occurrence.  Goldsmith's  old  friend,  though 
frugal-handed  employer,  Newbery,  of  picture-book  renown,  closed 
his  mortal  career.  The  poet  has  celebrated  him  as  the  friend  of 
all  mankind ;  he  certainly  lost  nothing  by  his  friendship.  He 
coined  the  brains  of  his  authors  in  the  times  of  their  exigency, 
and  made  them  pay  dear  for  the  plank  put  out  to  keep  them  from 
drowning.  It  is  not  likely  his  death  caused  much  lamentation 
among  the  scribbling  tribe ;  we  may  express  decent  respect  for 
the  memory  of  the  just,  but  we  shed  tears  only  at  the  grave  of 
the  generous. 


206  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

Theatrical  manoeuvring. — The  comedy  of  "  False  Delicacy." — First  perform- 
ance of  "  The  Good-natured  Man." — Conduct  of  Johnson. — Conduct  of 
the  author. — Intermeddling  of  the  press. 

The  comedy  of  "  The  Good-natured  Man"  was  doomed  to  experi- 
ence delays  and  dijfiaculties  to  the  very  last.  Garrlck,  notwith- 
standing his  professions,  had  still  a  lurking  grudge  against  the 
author,  and  tasked  his  managerial  arts  to  thwart  him  in  his 
theatrical  enterprise.  For  this  purpose  he  undertook  to  build 
up  Hugh  Kelly,  Goldsmith's  boon  companion  of  the  Wednesday 
club,  as  a  kind  of  rival.  Kelly  had  written  a  comedy  called 
False  Delicacy^  in  which  were  embodied  all  the  meretricious 
qualities  of  the  sentimental  school.  Garrick,  though  he  had 
decried  that  school,  and  had  brought  out  his  comedy  of  "  The 
Clandestine  Marriage"  in  opposition  to  it,  now  lauded  "False 
Delicacy"  to  the  skies,  and  prepared  to  bring  it  out  at  Drury 
Lane  with  all  possible  stage  effect.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to 
write  a  prologue  and  epilogue  for  it,  and  to  touch  up  some  parts 
of  the  dialogue.  He  had  become  reconciled  to  his  former  col- 
league, Colman,  and  it  is  intimated  that  one  condition  in  the 
treaty  of  peace  between  these  potentates  of  the  realms  of  paste- 
board (equally  prone  to  play  into  each  other's  hands  with  the 
confederate  potentates  on  the  great  theatre  of  life)  was,  that 


THEATRICAL  MANCEUVRING.  207 


Goldsmith's  play  should  be  kept  back  until  Kelly's  had  been 
brought  forward. 

In  the  meantime  the  poor  author,  little  dreaming  of  the  dele- 
terious influence  at  work  behind  the  scenes,  saw  the  appointed 
time  arrive  and  pass  by  without  the  performance  of  his  play; 
while  "  False  Delicacy "  was  brought  out  at  Drury  Lane  (Janu- 
ary 23,  1768)  with  all  the  trickery  of  managerial  management. 
Houses  were  packed  to  applaud  it  to  the  echo ;  the  newspapers 
vied  with  each  other  in  their  venal  praises,  and  night  after  night 
seemed  to  give  it  a  fresh  triumph. 

While  "  False  Delicacy "  was  thus  borne  on  the  full  tide  of 
fictitious  prosperity,  "  The  Good-natured  Man "  was  creeping 
through  the  last  rehearsals  at  Covent  Garden.  The  success  of 
the  rival  piece  threw  a  damp  upon  author,  manager,  and  actors. 
Goldsmith  went  about  with  a  face  full  of  anxiety ;  Colman's 
hopes  in  the  piece  declined  at  each  rehearsal ;  as  to  his  fellow 
proprietors,  they  declared  they  had  never  entertained  any.  All 
the  actors  were  discontented  with  their  parts,  excepting  Ned 
Shuter,  an  excellent  low  comedian,  and  a  pretty  actress  named 
Miss  Walford  ;  both  of  whom  the  poor  author  ever  afterward 
held  in  grateful  recollection. 

Johnson,  Goldsmith's  growling  monitor  and  unsparing  casti- 
gator  in  times  of  heedless  levity,  stood  by  him  at  present  with  that 
protectmg  kindness  with  which  he  ever  befriended  him  in  time  of 
need.  He  attended  the  rehearsals  ;  he  furnished  the  prologue 
according  to  promise ;  he  pish'd  and  pshaw'd  at  any  doubts  and 
fears  on  the  part  of  the  author,  but  gave  him  sound  counsel,  and 
held  him  up  with  a  steadfast  and  manly  hand.  Inspirited  by 
his  sympathy.  Goldsmith  plucked  up  new  heart,  and  arrayed 
himself  for  the  grand  trial  with  unusual  care.     Ever  since  his 


208  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


elevation  into  the  polite  world,  he  had  improved  in  his  wardrobe 
and  toilet.  Johnson  could  no  longer  accuse  him  of  being  shabby 
in  his  appearance ;  he  rather  went  to  the  other  extreme.  On 
the  present  occasion  there  is  an  entry  in  the  books  of  his  tailor, 
Mr  William ^Filby,  of  a  suit  of  "  Tyrian  bloom,  satin  grain,  and 
garter  blue  silk  breeches,  £8  2s.  7d."  Thus  magnificently  at- 
tired, he  attended  the  theatre  and  watched  the  reception  of  the 
play,  and  the  effect  of  each  individual  scene,  with  that  vicissitude 
of  feeling  incident  to  his  mercurial  nature. 

Johnson's  prologue  was  solemn  in  itself,  and  being  delivered 
b}''  Brinsley  in  lugubrious  tones  suited  to  the  ghost  in  Hamlet, 
seemed  to  throw  a  portentous  gloom  on  the  audience.  Some  of 
the  scenes  met  with  great  applause,  and  at  such  times  Goldsmith 
was  highly  elated  ;  others  went  off  coldly,  or  there  were  slight 
tokens  of  disapprobation,  and  then  his  spirits  would  sink.  The 
fourth  act  saved  the  piece ;  for  Shuter,  who  had  the  main  comic 
character  of  Croaker,  was  so  varied  and  ludicrous  in  his  execu- 
tion of  the  scene  in  which  he  reads  an  incendiary  letter,  that  he 
drew  down  thunders  of  applause.  On  his  coming  behind  the 
scenes,  Groldsmith  greeted  him  with  an  overflowing  heart ;  de- 
claring that  he  exceeded  his  own  idea  of  the  character,  and  made 
it  almost  as  new  to  him  as  to  any  of  the  audience. 

On  the  whole,  however,  both  the  author  and  his  friends  were 
disappointed  at  the  reception  of  the  piece,  and  considered  it  a 
failure.  Poor  Goldsmith  left  the  theatre  with  his  towering  hopes 
completely  cut  down.  He  endeavored  to  hide  his  mortification, 
and  even  to  assume  an  air  of  unconcern  while  among  his  asso- 
ciates ;  but,  the  moment  he  was  alone  with  Dr.  Johnson,  in  whose 
rough  but  magnanimous  nature  he  reposed  unlimited  confidence, 
he  threw  off  all  restraint  and  gave  way  to  an  almost  childlike  burst 


ODD  CONFESSIONS.  209 


of  grief.  Johnson,  who  had  shown  no  want  of  sympathy  at  the 
proper  time,  saw  nothing  in  the  partial  disappointment  of  over- 
rated expectations  to  warrant  such  ungoverned  emotions,  and  re- 
buked him  sternly  for  what  he  termed  a  silly  affectation,  saying 
that  "  No  man  should  be  expected  to  sympathize  with  the  sor- 
rows of  vanity." 

When  Goldsmith  had  recovered  from  the  blow,  he,  with  his 
usual  unreserve,  made  his  past  distress  a  subject  of  amusement 
to  his  friends.  Dining  one  day,  in  company  with  Dr.  Johnson, 
at  the  chaplain's  table  at  St.  James's  Palace,  he  entertained  the 
company  witli  a  particular  and  comic  account  of  all  his  feelings 
on  the  night  of  representation,  and  his  despair  when  the  piece 
was  hissed.  How  he  went,  he  said,  to  the  Literary  Club:  chatted 
gayly,  as  if  nothing  had  gone  amiss ;  and,  to  give  a  greater  idea 
of  his  unconcern,  sang  his  favorite  song  about  an  old  woman 
tossed  in  a  blanket  seventeen  times  as  high  as  the  moon.  .  .  . 
"  All  this  while,"  added  he,  "  I  was  suffering  horrid  tortures, 
and,  had  I  put  a  bit  in  my  mouth,  I  verily  believe  it  would  have 
strangled  me  on  the  spot,  I  was  so  excessively  ill :  but  I  made 
more  noise  than  usual  to  cover  all  that ;  so  they  never  perceived 
my  not  eating,  nor  suspected  the  anguish  of  my  heart ;  but,  when 
all  were  gone  except  Johnson  here,  I  burst  out  a-crying,  and 
even  swore  that  I  would  never  write  again." 

Dr-.  Johnson  sat  in  amaze  at  the  odd  frankness  and  childlike 
self  accusation  of  poor  Goldsmith.  When  the  latter  had  come  to 
a  pause,  "  All  this,  doctor,"  said  he  dryly,  "  I  thought  had  been 
a  secret  between  you  and  me.  and  I  am  sure  I  would  not  have 
said  any  thing  about  it  for  the  world."  But  Goldsmith  had  no 
secrets :  his  follies,  his  weaknesses,  his  errors  were  all  thrown  to 
the  surface ;  his  heart  was  really  too  guileless  and  innocent  to 


210  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


seek  mystery  and  concealment.  It  is  too  often  the  false,  design- 
ing man  that  is  guarded  in  his  conduct  and  never  offends  pro- 
prieties. 

It  is  singular,  however,  that  Goldsmith,  who  thus  in  conversa- 
tion could  keep  nothing  to  himself,  should  be  the  author  of  a 
maxim  which  would  inculcate  the  most  thorough  dissimulation. 
"  Men  of  the  world,"  says  he  in  one  of  the  papers  of  the  Bfee, 
"maintain  that  the  true  end  of  speech  is  not  so  much  to  express 
our  wants  as  to  conceal  them."  How  often  is  this  quoted  as  one 
of  the  subtle  remarks  of  the  fine  witted  Talleyrand  ! 

"  The  Grood-natured  Man "  was  performed  for  ten  nights  in 
succession  ;  the  third,  sixth,  and  ninth  nights  were  for  the  author's 
benefit :  the  fifth  night  it  was  commanded  by  their  majesties  ; 
after  this  it  was  played  occasionally,  but  rarely,  having  always 
pleased  more  in  the  closet  than  on  the  stage. 

As  to  Kelly's  comedy,  Johnson  pronounced  it  entirely 
devoid  of  character,  and  it  has  long  since  passed  into  oblivion 
Yet  it  is  an  instance  how  an  inferior  production,  by  dint  of 
pufiing  and  trumpeting,  may  be  kept  up  for  a  time  on  the  surface 
of  popular  opinion,  or  rather  of  popular  talk.  What  had  been 
done  for  '•  False  Delicacy  "  on  the  stage  was  continued  by  the  press. 
The  booksellers  vied  with  the  manager  in  launching  it  upon  the 
town.  They  announced  that  the  first  impression  of  three  thou- 
sand copies  was  exhausted  before  two  o'clock  on  the  day  of  publi- 
cation ;  four  editions,  amounting  to  ten  thousand  copies,  were 
sold  in  the  course  of  the  season  ;  a  public  breakfast  was  given  to 
Kelly  at  the  Chapter  Cofi'ee-House,  and  a  piece  of  plate  presented 
to  him  by  the  publishers.  The  comparative  merits  of  the  two 
plays   were  continually  subjects  of  discussion  in   green-rooms, 


INTERMEDDLING   OF  THE  PRESS.  211 


coffee-houses,  and  other  places  where  theatrical  questions  were 
discussed. 

Groldsmith's  old  enemy,  Kenrick,  that  "viper  of  the  press," 
endeavored  on  this  as  on  many  other  occasions  to  detract  from 
his  well-earned  fame ;  the  poet  was  excessively  sensitive  to  these 
attacks,  and  had  not  the  art  and  self-command  to  conceal  his 
feelings 

Some  scribblers  on  the  other  side  insinuated  that  Kelly  had 
seen  the  manuscript  of  Goldsmith's  play,  while  in  the  hands  of 
Garrick  or  elsewhere,  and  had  borrowed  some  of  the  situations 
and  sentiments.  Some  of  the  wags  of  the  day  took  a  mischievous 
pleasure  in  stirring  up  a  feud  between  the  two  authors.  Gold- 
smith became  nettled,  though  he  could  scarcely  be  deemed  jealous 
of  one  so  far  his  inferior.  He  spoke  disparagingly,  though  no 
doubt  sincerely,  of  Kelly's  play :  the  latter  retorted.  Still,  when 
they  met  one  day  behind  the  scenes  of  Covent  Garden,  Goldsmith, 
with  his  customary  urbanity,  congratulated  Kelly  on  his  success. 
"If  I  thought  you  sincere,  Mr.  Goldsmith,"  replied  the  other, 
abruptly,  "  I  should  thank  you."  Goldsmith  was  not  a  man  to 
harbor  spleen  or  ill-will,  and  soon  laughed  at  this  unworthy 
rivalship  :  but  the  jealousy  and  envy  awakened  in  Kelly's  mind 
long  continued.  He  is  even  accused  of  having  given  vent  to  his 
hostility  by  anonymous  attacks  in  the  newspapers,  the  basest 
resource  of  dastardly  and  malignant  spirits ;  but  of  this  there  is 
no  positive  proof. 


2J3  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Burning  the  candle  at  both  ends. — Fine  apartments. — Fine  furniture. — Fine 
clothes. — Fine  acquaintances. — Shoemaker's  holiday  and  jolly  pigeon  asso- 
ciates.— Peter  Barlow,  Glover,  and  the  Hampstead  hoax. — Poor  friends 
among  great  acquaintances. 

The  profits  resulting  from  "  The  Good-natured  Man"  were  beyond 
any  that  Goldsmith  had  yet  derived  from  his  works.  He  netted 
about  four  hundred  pounds  from  the  theatre,  and  one  hundred 
pounds  from  his  publisher. 

Five  hundred  pounds  !  and  all  at  one  miraculous  draught ! 
It  appeared  to  him  wealth  inexhaustible.  It  at  once  opened  his 
heart  and  hand,  and  led  him  into  all  kinds  of  extravagance.  The 
fii-st  symptom  was  ten  guineas  sent  to  Shuter  for  a  box  ticket  for 
his  benefit,  when  "  The  Good-natured  Man"  was  to  be  performed. 
The  next  was  an  entire  change  in  his  domicil.  The  shabby 
lodgings  with  Jeff's,  the  butler,  in  which  he  had  been  worried  by 
Johnson's  scrutiny,  were  now  exchanged  for  chambers  more  be- 
coming a  man  of  his  ample  fortune.  The  apartments  consisted 
of  three  rooms  on  the  second  floor  of  No.  2  Brick  Court,  Middle 
Temple,  on  the  right  hand  ascending  the  staircase,  and  over- 
looked the  umbrageous  walks  of  the  Temple  garden.  The  lease 
he  purchased  for  £400,  and  then  went  on  to  furnish  his  rooms 
with  mahogany  sofas,  card-tables,  and  book-cases ;  with  curtains, 


SHOEMAKER'S  HOLIDAY.  213 


mirrors,  and  AVilton  carpets.  His  awkward  little  person  was  also 
furnished  out  in  a  style  befitting  his  apartment ;  for,  in  addition 
to  his  suit  of  "  Tyrian  bloom,  satin  grain,"  w^e  find  another 
charged  about  this  time,  in  the  books  of  Mr.  Filby,  in  no  less 
gorgeous  terms,  being  "  lined  with  silk  and  furnished  with  gold 
buttons."  Thus  lodged  and  thus  arrayed,  he  invited  the  visits 
of  his  most  aristocratic  acquaintances,  and  no  longer  quailed 
beneath  the  courtly  eye  of  Beauclerc.  He  gave  dinners  to  John 
son,  Reynolds,  Percy,  Bickerstafi",  and  other  friends  of  note;  and 
supper  parties  to  young  folks  of  both  sexes.  These  last  were 
preceded  by  round  games  of  cards,  at  which  there  was  more 
laughter  than  skill,  and  in  which  the  sport  was  to  cheat  each 
other  ;  or  by  romping  games  of  forfeits  and  blind-man's  buflf,  at 
which  he  enacted  the  lord  of  misrule.  Blackstone,  whose  cham- 
bers were  immediately  below,  and  who  was  studiously  occupied 
on  his  Commentaries^  used  to  complain  of  the  racket  made  over- 
head by  his  revelling  neighbor. 

Sometimes  Goldsmith  would  make  up  a  rural  party,  composed 
of  four  or  five  of  his  "  jolly  pigeon"  friends,  to  enjoy  what  he 
humorously  called  a  "  shoemaker's  holiday."  These  would  as- 
semble at  his  chambers  in  the  morning,  to  partake  of  a  plentiful 
and  rather  expensive  breakfast ;  the  remains  of  which,  with  his 
customary  benevolence,  he  generally  gave  to  some  poor  woman 
in  attendance.  The  repast  ended,  the  party  would  set  out  on 
foot,  in  high  spirits,  making  extensive  rambles  by  foot-paths  and 
green  lanes  to  Blackheath,  Wandsworth,  Chelsea,  Hampton  Court, 
Highgate,  or  some  other  pleasant  resort,  within  a  few  miles  of 
London.  A  simple  but  gay  and  heartily  relished  dinner,  at  a 
country  inn,  crowned  the  excursion.  In  the  evening  they  strolled 
back  to  town,  all  the  better  in  health  and  spirits  for  a  day  spent 


214  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


in  rural  and  social  enjoyment.  Occasionally,  when  extravagantly 
inclined,  they  adjourned  from  dinner  to  drink  tea  at  the  White 
Conduit  House ;  and,  now  and  then,  concluded  their  festive  day 
by  supping  at  the  Grecian  or  Temple  Exchange  Coffee  Houses, 
or  at  the  Globe  Tavern,  in  Fleet-street.  The  whole  expenses  of 
the  day  never  exceeded  a  crown,  and  were  oftener  from  three  and 
sixpence  to  four  shillings ;  for  the  best  part  of  their  entertain- 
ment, sweet  air  and  rural  scenes,  excellent  exercise  and  joyous 
conversation,  cost  nothing. 

One  of  Goldsmith's  humble  companions,  on  these  excursions, 
was  his  occasional  amanuensis,  Peter  Barlow,  whose  quaint  pecu- 
liarities afforded  much  amusement  to  the  company.  Peter  was 
poor  but  punctilious,  squaring  his  expenses  according  to  his  means. 
He  always  wore  the  same  garb  ;  fixed  his  regular  expenditure  for 
dinner  at  a  trifling  sum,  which,  if  left  to  himself,  he  never  ex- 
ceeded, but  which  he  always  insisted  on  paying.  His  oddities 
always  made  him  a  welcome  companion  on  the  "  shoemaker's 
holidays."  The  dinner,  on  these  occasions,  generally  exceeded 
considerably  his  tariflF;  he  put  down,  however,  no  more  than  his 
regular  sum,  and  Goldsmith  made  up  the  difference. 

Another  of  these  hangers-on,  for  whom,  on  such  occasions, 
he  was  content  to  "  pay  the  shot,"  was  his  countryman.  Glover, 
of  whom  mention  has  already  been  made,  as  one  of  the  wags  and 
sponges  of  the  Globe  and  Devil  taverns,  and  a  prime  mimic  at 
the  Wednesday  Club. 

This  vagabond  genius  has  bequeathed  us  a  whimsical  story 
of  one  of  his  practical  jokes  upon  Goldsmith,  in  the  course  of  a 
rural  excursion  in  the  vicinity  of  London.  They  had  dined  at 
an  inn  on  Hampstead  Heights,  and  were  descending  the  hill, 
when,  in  passing  a  cottage,  they  saw  through  the  open  window  a 


THE  HAMPSTEAD  HOAX.  21$ 


party  at  tea.  Goldsmith,  who  was  fatigued,  cast  a  wistful  glance 
at  the  cheerful  tea-table.  "  How  I  should  like  to  be  of  that  party," 
exclaimed  he.  "  Nothing  more  easy,"  replied  Glover ;  "  allow 
me  to  introduce  you."  So  saying,  he  entered  the  house  with  an 
air  of  the  most  perfect  familiarity,  though  an  utter  stranger,  and 
was  followed  by  the  unsuspecting  Goldsmith,  who  supposed,  of 
course,  that  he  was  a  friend  of  the  family.  The  owner  of  the 
house  rose  on  the  entrance  of  the  strangers.  The  undaunted 
Glover  shook  hands  with  him  in  the  most  cordial  manner  pos- 
sible, fixed  his  eye  on  one  of  the  company  who  had  a  peculiarly 
good-natured  physiognomy,  muttered  something  like  a  recognition, 
and  forthwith  launched  into  an  amusing  story,  invented  at  the 
moment,  of  something  which  he  pretended  had  occurred  upon  the 
road.  The  host  supposed  the  new-comers  were  friends  of  his 
guests  ;  the  guests  that  they  were  friends  of  the  host.  Glover  did 
not  give  them  time  to  find  out  the  truth.  He  followed  one  droll 
story  with  another  ;  brought  his  powers  of  mimicry  into  play,  and 
kept  the  company  in  a  roar.  Tea  was  offered  and  accepted ;  an 
hour  went  off  in  the  most  sociable  manner  imaginable,  at  the  end 
of  which  Glover  bowed  himself  and  his  companion  out  of  the 
house  with  many  facetious  last  words,  leaving  the  host  and  his 
company  to  compare  notes,  and  to  find  out  what  an  impudent 
intrusion  they  had  experienced. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  dismay  and  vexation  of  Goldsmith 
when  triumphantly  told  by  Glover  that  it  was  all  a  hoax,  and  that 
he  did  not  know  a  single  soul  in  the  house.  His  first  impulse 
was  to  return  instantly  and  vindicate  himself  from  all  participa- 
tion in  the  jest ;  but  a  few  words  from  his  free  and  easy  compa- 
nion dissuaded  him.  "  Doctor,"  said  he,  coolly,  "  we  are  un- 
known ;  you  quite  as  much  as  I ;  if  you  return  and  tell  the  story, 


S16  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


it  will  be  in  the  newspapers  to-morrow ;  nay,  upon  recollection.  I 
remember  in  one  of  their  offices  the  face  of  that  squinting  fellow 
who  sat  in  the  corner  as  if  he  was  treasuring  up  my  stories  for 
future  use,  and  we  shall  be  sure  of  being  exposed ;  let  us  there- 
fore keep  our  own  counsel." 

This  story  was  frequently  afterward  told  by  Glover,  with  rich 
dramatic  effect,  repeating  and  exaggerating  the  conversation,  and 
mimicking,  in  ludicrous  style,  the  embarrassment,  surprise,  and 
subsequent  indignation  of  Goldsmith. 

It  is  a  trite  saying  that  a  wheel  cannot  run  in  two  ruts ;  nor 
a  man  keep  two  opposite  sets  of  intimates.  Goldsmith  some- 
times found  his  old  friends  of  the  'jolly  pigeon'  order  turn- 
ing up  rather  awkwardly  when  he  was  in  company  with  his  new 
aristocratic  acquaintances.  He  gave  a  whimsical  account  of  the 
sudden  apparition  of  one  of  them  at  his  gay  apartments  in  the 
Temple,  who  may  have  been  a  welcome  visitor  at  his  squalid 
quarters  in  Green  Arbor  Court.  "  How  do  you  think  he  served 
me?"  said  he  to  a  friend.  "Why,  sir,  after  staying  away 
two  years,  he  came  one  evening  into  my  chambers,  half  drunk, 
as  I  was  taking  a  glass  of  wine  with  Topham  Beauclerc  and 
General  Oglethorpe  ;  and  sitting  himself  down,  with  most  in- 
tolerable assurance  inquired  after  my  health  and  literary  pur- 
suits, as  if  we  were  upon  the  most  friendly  footing.  I  was  at 
-^  first  so  much  ashamed  of  ever  having  known  such  a  fellow,  that 
I  stifled  my  resentment,  and  drew  him  into  a  conversation  on 
such  topics  as  I  knew  he  could  talk  upon  ;  in  which,  to  do  him 
justice,  he  acquitted  himself  very  reputably  ;  when  all  of  a  sud- 
den, as  if  recollecting  something,  he  palled  two  papers  out  of  his 
pocket,  which  he  presented  to  me  with  great  ceremony,  saying, 
'  Here,  my  dear  friend,  is  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  tea,  and  a 


THE  UNWELCOME  VISITOR,  217 


half  pound  of  sugar,  I  have  brought  you  ;  for. though  it  is  not  in 
my  power  at  present  to  pay  you  the  two  guineas  you  so  gener- 
ously lent  me,  you,  nor  any  man  else,  shall  ever  have  it  to  say 
that  I  want  gratitude.'  This,"  added  Goldsmith,  "was  too 
much.  I  could  no  longer  keep  in  my  feelings,  but  desired  him 
to  turn  out  of  my  chambers  directly ;  which  he  very  coolly  did, 
taking  up  his  tea  and  sugar  ;  and  I  never  saw  him  afterwards." 


218  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Reduced  again  to  book-building. — Rural  retreat  at  Shoemaker's  paradise. — 
Death  of  Henry  Goldsmith — tributes    to  his  memory  in  the    Deserted 

Village. 

The  heedless  expenses  of  Groldsmith,  as  may  easily  be  supposed, 
soon  brought  him  to  the  end  of  his  '  prize  money,'  but  when  his 
purse  gave  out  he  drew  upon  futurity,  obtaining  advances  from 
his  booksellers  and  loans  from  his  friends  in  the  confident  hope 
of  soon  turning  up  another  trump.  The  debts  which  he  thus 
thoughtlessly  incurred  in  consequence  of  a  transient  gleam  of 
prosperity  embarrassed  him  for  the  rest  of  his  life ;  so  that  the 
success  of  the  "  Good-natured  Man "  may  be  said  to  have  been 
ruinous  to  him. 

He  was  soon  obliged  to  resume  his  old  craft  of  book-building, 
and  set  about  his  History  of  Rome,  undertaken  for  Davies. 

It  was  his  custom,  as  we  have  shown,  during  the  summer 
time,  when  pressed  by  a  multiplicity  of  literary  jobs,  or  urged 
to  the  accomplishment  of  some  particular  task,  to  take  country 
l)dgings  a  few  miles  from  town,  generally  on  the  Harrow  or 
Edgeware  roads,  and  bury  himself  there  for  weeks  and  months 
together.  Sometimes  he  would  remain  closely  occupied  in  his 
room,  at  other  times  he  would  stroll  out  along  the  lanes  and, 
hedge-rows,  and  taking  out  paper  and  pencil,  note  down  thoughts 


SHOEMAKER'S  PARADISE.  219 


to  be  expanded  aud  connected  at  home.  His  summer  retreat 
for  the  present  year,  1768,  was  a  little  cottage  with  a  garden, 
pleasantly  situated  about  eight  miles  from  town  on  the  Edgeware 
road.  He  took  it  in  conjunction  with  a  Mr.  Edmund  Botts,  a 
barrister  and  man  of  letters,  his  neighbor  in  the  Temple,  having 
rooms  immediately  opposite  him  on  the  same  floor.  They  had 
become  cordial  intimates,  and  Botts  was  one  of  those  with  whom 
Goldsmith  now  and  then  took  the  friendly  but  pernicious  liberty 
of  borrowing. 

The  cottage  which  they  had  hired  belonged  to  a  rich  shoe- 
maker of  Piccadilly,  who  had  embellished  his  little  domain  of 
half  an  acre  with  statues,  and  jets,  and  all  the  decorations  of 
landscape  gardening ;  in  consequence  of  which  Groldsmith  gave 
it  the  name  of  The  Shoemaker's  Paradise.  As  his  fellow  occu- 
pant Mr.  Botts  drove  a  gig,  he  sometimes,  in  an  interval  of  lite- 
rary labor  accompanied  him  to  town,  partook  of  a  social  dinner 
there  and  returned  with  him  in  the  evening.  On  one  occasion, 
when  they  had  probably  lingered  too  long  at  the  table,  they  came 
near  breaking  their  necks  on  their  way  homeward  by  driving 
against  a  post  on  the  side-walk,  while  Botts  was  proving  by  the 
force  of  legal  eloquence  that  they  were  in  the  very  middle  of  the 
broad  Edgeware  road. 

In  the  course  of  this  summer,  Groldsmith's  career  of  gayety 
was  suddenly  brought  to  a  pause  by  intelligence  of  the  death  of 
his  brother  Henry,  then  but  forty-five  years  of  age.  He  had  led 
a  quiet  and  blameless  life  amid  the  scenes  of  his  youth,  fulfil- 
ling the  duties  of  village  pastor  with  unaffected  piety ;  conduct- 
ing the  school  at  Lissoy  with  a  degree  of  industry  and  ability 
that  gave  it  celebrity,  and  acquitting  himself  in  all  the  duties  of 
life  with   undeviating  rectitude  and    the  mildest   benevolence. 


220  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


r 


How  truly  Groldsmith  loved  and  venerated  him  is  evident  in  all 
his  letters  and  throughout  his  works  ;  in  which  his  brother  con- 
tinually forms  his  model  for  an  exemplification  of  all  the  most 
endearing  of  the  Christian  virtues  ;  yet  his  affection  at  his  death 
was  embittered  by  the  fear  that  he  died  with  some  doubt  upon 
his  mind  of  the  warmth  of  his  affection.  Goldsmith  had  been 
urged  by  his  friends  in  Ireland,  since  his  elevation  in  the  world, 
to  use  his  influence  with  the  great,  which  they  supposed  to  be  all 
powerful,  in  favor  of  Henry,  to  obtain  for  him  church  preferment. 
He  did  exert  himself  as  far  as  his  diffident  nature  would  permit, 
but  without  success  ;  we  have  seen  that,  in  the  case  of  the  Earl 
of  Northumberland,  when,  as  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  that 
nobleman  proffered  him  his  patronage,  he  asked  nothing  for  him- 
self, but  only  spoke  on  behalf  of  his  brother.  Still  some  of  his 
friends,  ignorant  of  what  he  had  done  and  of  how  little  he  was 
able  to  do,  accused  him  of  negligence.  It  is  not  likely,  however, 
that  his  amiable  and  estimable  brother  joined  in  the  accusation. 

To  the  tender  and  melancholy  recollections  of  his  early  days 
awakened  by  the  death  of  this  loved  companion  of  his  childhood, 
we  may  attribute  some  of  the  most  heartfelt  passages  in  his 
Deserted  Village.  Much  of  that  poem  we  are  told  was  composed 
this  summer,  in  the  course  of  solitary  strolls  about  the  green 
lanes  and  beautifully  rural  scenes  of  the  neighborhood ;  and 
thus  much  of  the  softness  and  sweetness  of  English  landscape 
became  blended  with  the  ruder  features  of  Lissoy.  It  was  in 
these  lonely  and  subdued  moments,  when  tender  regret  was  half 
mingled  with  self-upbraiding,  that  he  poured  forth  that  homage 
of  the  heart  rendered  as  it  were  at  the  grave  of  his  brother. 
The  picture  of  the  village  pastor  in  this  poem,  which  we  have 
already  hinted,  was    taken  in  part  from  the  character  of   his 


HENRY  GOLDSMITH.  221 


father,  embodied  likewise  tlie  recollections  of  his  brother  Henry  ; 
for  the  natures  of  the  father  and  son  seem  to  have  been  identical. 
In  the  following  lines,  however,  Goldsmith  evidently  contrasted 
the  quiet  settled  life  of  his  brother,  passed  at  home  in  the  benev- 
olent exercise  of  the  Christian  duties,  with  his  own  restless 
vagrant  career : 

"  Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 
Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change  his  place." 

To  US  the  whole  character  seems  traced  as  it  were  in  an  expia- 
tory spirit ;  as  if,  conscious  of  his  own  wandering  restlessness, 
he  sought  to  humble  himself  at  the  shrine  of  excellence  which 
he  had  not  been  able  to  practise : 

"  At  church  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 
His  looks  adom'd  the  venerable  place  ;  ^^ 

Truth  from  his  lips  prevail'd  with  double  sway. 
And  fools,  who  came  to  scoff,  remain'd  to  pray. 
The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man. 
With  steady  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran  ; 
Even  children  foUow'd,  with  endearing  wile. 
And  pluck'd  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's  smile : 
His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  express'd. 
Their  welfare  pleas'd  him,  and  their  cares  distress'd  ; 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs  were  given. 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 

And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reprov'd  each  dull  delay, 
AlWd  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way." 


222  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Dinner  at  Bickerstaff's. — Hiffernan  and  his  impecuniosity. — Kenrick's  epi- 
gram.— Johnson's  consolation. — Goldsmith's  toilet. — The  bloom-colored 
coat. — New  acquaintances — The  Hornecks. — A  touch  of  poetry  and  pas- 
sion.— The  Jessamy  Bride. 

In  October,  Goldsmith  returned  to  town  and  resumed  his  usual 
haunts.  We  hear  of  him  at  a  dinner  given  by  his  countryman, 
Isaac  BickerstaiF,  author  of  "  Love  in  a  Village,"  "  Lionel  and 
Clarissa,"  and  other  successful  dramatic  pieces.  The  dinner  was 
to  be  followed  by  the  reading  by  Bickerstaff  of  a  new  play. 
Among  the  guests  was  one  Paul  Hififernan,  likewise  an  Irishman  ; 
somewhat  idle  and  intemperate  ;  who  lived  nobody  knew  how  nor 
where,  sponging  wherever  he  had  a  chance,  and  often  of  course 
upon  Goldsmith,  who  was  ever  the  vagabond's  friend,  or  rather 
victim.  Hiffernan  was  something  of  a  physician,  and  elevated 
the  emptiness  of  his  purse  into  the  dignity  of  a  disease,  which  he 
termed,  impecuniosity^  and  against  which  he  claimed  a  right  to 
call  for  relief  from  the  healthier  purses  of  his  friends.  He  was  a 
scribbler  for  the  newspapers,  and  latterly  a  dramatic  critic,  which 
had  probably  gained  him  an  invitation  to  the  dinner  and  reading. 
The  wine  and  wassail,  however,  befogged  his  senses.  Scarce  had 
the  author  got  into  the  second  act  of  his  play,  when  Hiffernan 
began  to  nod,  and  at  length  snored  outright.     Bickerstaff  was 


PAUL   HIFFERNAN.  223 


embarrassed,  but  continued  to  read  in  a  more  elevated  tone. 
The  louder  lie  read,  the  louder  Hiffernan  snored  ;  until  the 
author  came  to  a  pause.  "  Never  mind  the  brute,  Biok,  but  go 
on,"  cried  Goldsmith.  "  He  would  have  served  Homer  just  so, 
if  he  were  here  and  reading  his  own  works." 

Kenrick,  Groldsmith's  old  enemy,  travestied  this  anecdote  in 
the  following  lines,  pretending  that  the  poet  had  compared  his 
countryman  Bickerstaff  to  Homer. 

What  are  your  Bretons,  Romans,  Grecians, 
Compared  with  thorough-bred  Milesians  ! 
Step  into  Griffin's  shop,  he'll  tell  ye 
Of  Goldsmith,  Bickerstaff,  and  Kelly  *  »  * 
And,  take  one  Irish  evidence  for  t'other, 
Ev'n  Homer's  self  is  but  their  foster  brother. 

Johnson  was  a  rough  consoler  to  a  man  when  wincing  under 
an  attack  of  this  kind.  "  Never  mind,  sir,"  said  he  to  Groldsmith, 
when  he  saw  that  he  felt  the  sting.  "  A  man  whose  business  it 
is  to  be  talked  of  is  much  helped  by  being  attacked.  Fame,  sir, 
is  a  shuttlecock ;  if  it  be  struck  only  at  one  end  of  the  room,  it 
will  soon  fall  to  the  ground ;  to  keep  it  up,  it  must  be  struck  at 
both  ends." 

Bickerstaff  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  speaking  was  in  high 
vogue,  the  associate  of  the  first  wits  of  the  day  ;  a  few  years 
afterwards,  he  was  obliged  to  fly  the  country  to  escape  the 
punishment  of  an  infamous  crime.  Johnson  expressed  great 
astonishment  at  hearing  the  offence  for  which  he  had  fled. 
"Why,  sir?"  said  Thrale;  '-he  had  long  been  a  suspected  man." 
Perhaps  there  was  a  knowing  look  on  the  part  of  the  eminent 
brewer,  which  provoked  a  somewhat  contemptuous  reply.     "  By 


224  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


those  who  look  close  to  the  ground,"  said  Johnson,  "  dirt  will 
sometimes  be  seen  ;  I  hope  I  see  things  from  a  greater  distance." 

"We  have  already  noticed  the  improvement,  or  rather  the 
increased  expense,  of  Goldsmith's  wardrobe  since  his  elevation 
into  polite  society.  "  He  was  fond,"  says  one  of  his  contem- 
poraries, "  of  exhibiting  his  muscular  little  person  in  the  gayest 
A'  apparel  of  the  day,  to  which  was  added  a  bag-wig  and  sword." 
Thus  arrayed,  he  used  to  figure  about  in  the  sunshine  in  the 
Temple  Gardens,  much  to  his  own  satisfaction,  but  to  the 
amusement  of  his  acquaintances. 

Boswell,  in  his  memoirs,  has  rendered  one  of  his  suits  for 
ever  famous.  That  worthy,  on  the  IGth  of  October  in  this  same 
year,  gave  a  dinner  to  Johnson,  Goldsmith,  Reynolds,  Garrick, 
Murphy,  Bickerstaff,  and  Davies.  Goldsmith  was  generally  apt 
to  bustle  in  at  the  last  moment,  when  the  guests  were  taking 
their  seats  at  table,  but  on  this  occasion  he  was  unusually  early. 
While  waiting  for  some  lingerers  to  arrive,  "  he  strutted  about," 
says  Boswell,  "bragging of  his  dress, and  I  believe,  was  seriously 
vain  of  it,  for  his  mind  was  undoubtedly  prone  to  such  impres- 
sions. '  Come,  come,'  said  Garrick,  '  talk  no  more  of  that.  You 
are  perhaps  the  worst — eh,  eh  V  Goldsmith  was  eagerly  attempt- 
ing to  interrupt  him,  when  Garrick  went  on,  laughing  ironically. 
'Nay,  you  will  always  look  like  a  gentleman;  but  I  am  talking 
of  your  being  well  or  ill  dressed.^  '  Well,  let  me  tell  you,'  said 
Goldsmith,  '  when  the  tailor  brought  home  my  bloom-colored 
coat,  he  said,  "  Sir,  I  have  a  favor  to  bog  of  you  :  when  any  body 
asks  you  who  made  your  clothes,  be  pleased  to  mention  John 
Filby,  at  the  Harrow,  in  Water  Lane."  '  Why,  sir,'  cried  John- 
son, '  that  was  because  he  knew  the  strange  color  would  attract 


A  JOKER  OUTJOKED.  225 


crowds  to  gaze  at  it,  and  thus  they  might  hear  of  him,  and  see 
how  well  he  could  make  a  coat  of  so  absurd  a  color.'  " 

But  though  Goldsmith  might  permit  this  raillery  on  the  part 
of  his  friends,  he  was  quick  to  resent  any  personalities  of  the 
kind  from  strangers.  As  he  was  one  day  walking  the  Strand 
in  grand  array  with  bag-wig  and  sword,  he  excited  the  merriment 
of  two  coxcombs,  one  of  whom  called  to  the  other  to  "  look  at 
that  fly  with  a  long  pin  stuck  through  it  "  Stung  to  the  quick, 
Goldsmith's  first  retort  was  to  caution  the  passers-by  to  be  on 
their  guard  against  "  that  brace  of  disguised  pickpockets  " — his 
next  was  to  step  into  the  middle  of  the  street,  where  there  was 
room  for  action,  half-draw  his  sword,  and  beckon  the  joker,  who 
was  armed  in  like  manner,  to  follow  him.  This  was  literally  a 
war  of  wit  which  the  other  had  not  anticipated.  He  had  no  in- 
clination to  push  the  joke  to  such  an  extreme,  but  abandoning 
the  ground,  sneaked  off  with  his  brother  wag  amid  the  hootings 
of  the  spectators. 

This  proneness  to  finery  in  dress,  however,  which  Boswell 
and  others  of  Goldsmith's  contemporaries,  who  did'  not  under- 
stand the  secret  plies  of  his  character,  attributed  to  vanity,  arose, 
we  are  convinced,  from  a  widely  different  motive.  It  was  from  a 
painful  idea  of  his  own  personal  defects,  which  had  been  cruelly 
stamped  upon  his  mind  in  his  boyhood,  by  the  sneers  and  jeers 
of  his  playmates,  and  had  been  ground  deeper  into  it  by  rude 
speeches  made  to  him  in  every  step  of  his  struggling  career,  un- 
til it  had  become  a  constant  cause  of  awkwardness  and  embar- 
rassment. This  he  had  experienced  the  more  sensibly  since  his 
reputation  had  elevated  him  into  polite  society ;  and  he  was  con- 
stantly endeavoring  by  the  aid  of  dress  to  acquire  that  personal 
axxeptability^  if  we  may  use  the  phrase,  which  nature  had  denied 

10* 


226  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


him.  If  ever  he  betrayed  a  little  self-complacency  on  first  turn- 
ing out  in  a  new  suit,  it  may.  perhaps,  have  been  because  he  felt 
as  if  he  had  achieved  a  triumph  over  his  ugliness. 

There  were  circumstances  too,  about  the  time  of  which  we 
are  treating,  which  may  have  rendered  Groldsmith  more  than 
usually  attentive  to  his  personal  appearance.  He  had  recently 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  most  agreeable  family  from  Devon- 
shire, which  he  met  at  the  house  of  his  friend,  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds. It  consisted  of  Mrs.  Horneck,  widow  of  Captain  Kane 
Horneck ;  two  daughters,  seventeen  and  nineteen  years  of  age, 
and  an  only  son,  Charles,  the  Captain  in  Lace^  as  his  sisters 
playfully  and  somewhat  proudly  called  him,  he  having  lately  en- 
tered the  Guards..  The  daughters  are  described  as  uncommonly 
beautiful,  intelligent,  sprightly,  and  agreeable.  Catharine,  the 
eldest,  went  among  her  friends  by  the  name  of  Little  Comedy^ 
indicative,  very  probably,  of  her  disposition.  She  was  engaged 
to  William  Henry  Bunbury,  second  son  of  a  Suffolk  baronet. 
The  hand  and  heart  of  her  sister  Mary  were  yet  unengaged, 
although  she  bore  the  by-name  among  her  friends  of  the  Jessamy 
Bride.  This  family  was  prepared,  by  their  intimacy  with  Rey- 
nolds and  his  sister,  to  appreciate  the  merits  of  Goldsmith.  The 
poet  had  always  been  a  chosen  friend  of  the  eminent  painter,  and 
Miss  Reynolds,  as  we  have  shown,  ever  since  she  had  heard  his 
poem  of  The  Traveller  read  aloud,  had  ceased  to  consider  him 
ugly.  The  Hornecks  were  equally  capable  of  forgetting  his  per- 
son in  admiring  his  works,  On  becoming  acquainted  with  him, 
too,  they  were  delighted  with  his  guileless  simplicity ;  his  buoy- 
ant good-nature  and  his  innate  benevolence,  and  an  enduring 
intimacy  soon  sprang  up  between  them.  For  once  poor  Gold- 
smith had  met  with  polite  society,  with  which  he  was  perfectly  at 


A  RHYMING  EPISTLE.  g27 


home,  and  by  which  he  was  fully  appreciated ;  for  once  he  had 
met  with  lovely  women,  to  whom  his  ugly  features  were  not  re- 
pulsive. A  proof  of  the  easy  and  playful  terms  in  which  he  was 
with  them,  remains  in  a  whimsical  epistle  in  verse,  of  which  tlie 
following  was  the  occasion.  A  dinner  was  to  be  given  to  their 
family  by  a  Dr.  Baker,  a  friend  of  their  mother's,  at  which  Rey- 
nolds and  Angelica  Kauffman  were  to  be  present.  The  young 
ladies  were  eager  to  have  Goldsmith  of  the  party,  and  their  inti- 
macy with  Dr.  Baker  allowing  them  to  take  the  liberty,  they 
wrote  a  joint  invitation  to  the  poet  at  the  last  moment.  It  came 
too  late,  and  drew  from  him  the  following  reply ;  on  the  top  of 
which  was  scrawled,  This  is  a  poem  !     This  is  a  copy  of  verses  ! 


Little  Comedy's  face, 
And  the  Captain  in  Lace- 
Tell  each  other  to  rue 
Your  Devonshire  crew, 


But  'tis  Reynolds's  way 
From  wisdom  to  stray. 
And  Angelica's  whim 


Your  mandate  I  got, 

You  may  all  go  to  pot ; 

Had  your  senses  been  right. 

You'd  have  sent  before  night — 

So  tell  Horneck  and  Nesbitt,         j  For  sending  so  late 

And  Baker  and  his  bit.  To  one  of  my  state 

And  Kauffman  beside. 

And  the  Jessamy  Bride, 

With  the  rest  of  the  crew. 

The  Reynoldses  too,  I  To  befrolic  like  him ; 

But  alas  !  your  good  worships,  how  could  they  be  wiser, 
When  both  have  been  spoil'd  in  to-day's  Advertiser  ?* 

*  The  following  Hnes  had  appeared  in  that  day's  Advertiser,  on  the  portrai 
of  Sir  Joshua  by  Angelica  Kauffman  : — 

While  fair  Angelica,  with  matchless  grace, 
Paints  Conway's  burly  form  and  Stanhope's  face  ; 
Our  hearts  to  beauty  willing  homage  pay. 
We  praise,  admire^  and  gaze  our  souls  away. 


228  •«.  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


It  has  been  intimated  that  the  intimacy  of  poor  Goldsmith 
with  the  Miss  Horneeks,  which  began  in  so  sprightly  a  vein,  gra- 
dually assumed  something  of  a  more  tender  nature,  and  that  he 
was  not  insensible  to  the  fascinations  of  the  younger  ^ister.  This 
may  account  for  some  of  the  phenomena  which  about  this  time 
appeared  in  his  wardrobe  and  toilet.  During  the  first  year  of 
his  acquaintance  with  these  lovely  girls,  the  tell  tale  book  of  his 
tailor,  Mr.  William  Filby,  displays  entries  of  four  or  five  full  suits, 
beside  separate  articles  of  dress.  Among  the  items  we  find  a 
green  half-trimmed  frock  and  breeches,  lined  with  silk ;  a  queen's 
blue  dress  suit;  a  half-dress  suit  of  ratteen,  lined  with  satin;  a 
pair  of  silk  stocking  breeches,  and  another  pair  of  a  bloom  color. 
Alas  !  poor  Goldsmith  !  how  much  of  this  silken  finery  was  dic- 
tated, not  by  vanity,  but  humble  consciousness  of  thy  defects; 
how  much  of  it  was  to  atone  for  the  uncouthness  of  thy  person, 
and  to  win  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  Jessamy  Bride  ! 

But  when  the  likeness  she  hath  done  for  thee, 
O  Reynolds  !  with  astonishment  we  see. 
Forced  to  submit,  with  all  our  pride  we  own, 
Such  strength,  such  harmony  excelled  by  none. 
And  thou  art  rivalled  by  thyself  alone. 


IN  THE  TEMPLE.  229 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Goldsmith  in  the  Temple. — Judge  Day  and  Grattan  — Labor  and  dissipation. — 
Publication  of  the  Roman  History. — Opinions  of  it. — History  of  Animated 
Nature. — Temple  rookery. — Anecdotes  of  a  spider. 

In  the  winter  of  1768-69  Goldsmith  occupied  himself  at  his  quar- 
ters in  the  Temple,  slowly  "  Imilding  up"  his  Roman  History. 
Wo  have  pleasant  views  of  him  in  this  learned  and  half-cloistered 
retreat  of  wits  and  lawyers  and  legal  students,  in  the  reminis- 
cences of  Judge  Day  of  the  Irish  Bench,  who  in  his  advanced 
age  delighted  to  recall  the  days  of  his  youth,  when  he  was  a 
templar,  and  to  speak  of  the  kindness  with  which  he  and  his  fel- 
low-student, Grattan,  Were  treated  by  the  |)oet.  "  I  was  just  ar- 
rived from  college,"  said  he,  ''  full  freighted  with  academic  glean- 
ings, and  our  author  did  not  disdain  to  receive  from  me  some 
opinions  and  hints  towards  his  Greek  and  Roman  histories.  Be- 
ing then  a  young  man,  I  felt  much  flattered  by  the  notice  of  so 
celebrated  a  person.  He  took  great  delight  in  the  conversation 
of  Grattan,  whose  brilliancy  in  the  morning  of  life  furnished  full 
earnest  of  the  unrivalled  splendor  which  awaited  his  meridian  ; 
and  finding  us  dwelling  together  in  Essex  Court,  near  himself, 
where  he  frequently  visited  my  immortal  friend,  his  warm  heart 
became  naturally  prepossessed  towards  the  associate  of  one  whom 
he  so  much  admired." 


230  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


The  judge  goes  on,  in  liis  reminiscences,  to  give  a  picture  of 
Goldsmith's  social  habits,  similar  in  style  to  those  already  fur- 
nished. He  frequented  much  the  Grecian  Coffee-House,  then  the 
favorite  resort  of  the  Irish  and  Lancashire  Templars.  He  de- 
lighted in  collecting  his  friends  around  him  at  evening  parties 
at  his  chambers,  where  he  entertained  them  with  a  cordial  and 
unostentatious  hospitality.  "  Occasionally,"  adds  the  judge,  '•  he 
amused  them  with  his  flute,  or  with  whist,  neither  of  which  he 
played  well,  .particularly  the  latter,  but,  on  losing  his  money, 
he  never  lost  his  temper.  In  a  run  of  bad  luck  and  worse 
play,  he  would  fling  his  cards  upon  the  floor  and  exclaim, 
'  Byefore  George,  I  ought  for  ever  to  renounce  thee,  fickle, 
faithless  fortune.' " 

The  judge  was  aware,  at  the  time,  that  all  the  learned  labor 
of  poor  Goldsmith  upon  his  Roman  History  was  mere  hack  work 
to  recruit  his  exhausted  finances.  ''  His  purse  replenished,"  adds 
he,  "  by  labors  of  this  kind,  the  season  of  relaxation  and  pleasure 
took  its  turn,  in  attending  the  theatres,  Ranelagh,  Vauxhall,  and 
other  scenes  of  gayety  and  amusement.  Whenever  his  fands  were 
dissipated — and  they  fled  more  rapidly  from  being  the  dupe  of 
many  artful  persons,  male  and  female,  who  practised  upon  his 
benevolence — he  returned  to  his  literary  labors,  and  shut  himself 
up  from  society  to  provide  fresh  matter  for  his  bookseller,  and 
fresh  supplies  for  himself" 

How  completely  had  the  young  student  discerned  the  charac- 
teristics of  poor,  genial,  generous,  drudging,  holiday-loving  Gold- 
smith ;  toiling,  that  he  might  play ;  earning  his  bread  by  the 
sweat  of  his  brains,  and  then  throwing  it  out  of  the  window. 

The  Roman  History  was  published  in  the  middle  of  May,  in 
two  volumes  of  five  hundred  pages  each.     It  was  brought  out 


ROMAN  HISTORY.  231 


without  parade  or  pretension,  and  was  announced  as  for  the  use 
of  schools  and  colleges ;  hut,  though  a  work  written  for  bread, 
not  fame,  such  is  its  ease,  perspicuity,  good  sense,  and  the  delight- 
ful simplicity  of  its  style,  that  it  was  well  received  by  the  critics, 
commanded  a  prompt  and  extensive  sale,  and  has  ever  since  re- 
mained in  the  hands  of  young  and  old. 

Johnson,  who,  as  we  have  before  remarked,  rarely  praised  or 
dispraised  things  by  halves,  broke  forth  in  a  warm  eulogy  of  the 
author  and  the  work,  in  a  conversation  with  Boswell,  to  the  great 
astonishment  of  the  latter.  "  Whether  we  take  Goldsmith,"  said 
he,  "  as  a  poet,  as  a  comic  writer,  or  as  an  historian,  he  stands  in 
the  first  class."  Boswell. — "  An  historian  !  My  dear  sir,  you 
surely  will  not  rank  his  compilation  of  the  Roman  History  with 
the  works  of  other  historians  of  this  age."  Johnson. — ''  Why,  who 
are  before  him  ?"  Boswell. — "  Hume — Robertson — Lord  Lyttle- 
ton."  Johnson  (his  antipathy  against  the  Scotch  beginning  to 
rise). — "  I  have  not  read  Hume  ;  but  doubtless  Goldsmith's  His- 
tory is  better  than  the  verbiage  of  Robertson,  or  the  foppery  of 
Dalrymple."  Boswell. — "  Will  you  not  admit  the  superiority  of 
Robertson,  in  whose  history  we  find  such  penetration,  such  paint- 
ing?" Johnson. — "  Sir,  you  must  consider  how  that  penetration 
and  that  painting  are  employed.  It  is  not  history,  it  is  imagina- 
tion. He  who  describes  what  he  never  saw,  draws  from  fancy. 
Robertson  paints  minds  as  Sir  Joshua  paints  faces,  in  a  history- 
piece  ;  he  imagines  an  heroic  countenance.  You  must  look  upon 
Robertson's  work  as  romance,  and  try  it  by  that  standard.  His- 
tory it  is  not.  Besides,  sir,  it  is  the  great  excellence  of  a  writer 
to  put  into  his  book  as  much  as  his  book  will  hold.  Goldsmith 
has  done  this  in  his  history.  Now  Robertson  might  have  put 
twice  as  much  in  his  book.     Robertson  is   like  a  man  who  has 


232  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


packed  gold  in  wool ;  the  wool  takes  up  more  room  than  the  gold. 
No,  sir,  I  always  thought  Rohertson  would  be  crushed  with  his 
own  weight — would  be  buried  under  his  own  ornaments.  Gold- 
smith tells  you  shortly  all  you  want  to  know  ;  Robertson  detains 
you  a  great  deal  too  long.  No  man  will  read  Robertson's  cum- 
brous detail  a  second  time ;  but  Goldsmith's  plain  narrative  will 
please  again  and  again.  I  would  say  to  Robertson  what  an  old 
tutor  of  a  college  said  to  one  of  his  pupils,  '  Read  over  your  com- 
positions, and,  whenever  you  meet  with  a  passage  which  you  think 
is  particularly  fine,  strike  it  out !'  Goldsmith's  abridgment  is 
better  than  that  of  Lucius  Florus  or  Eutropius ;  and  I  will 
venture  to  say,  that  if  you  compare  him  with  Vertot  in  the 
same  places  of  the  Roman  History,  you  will  find  that  he  excels 
Vertot.  Sir,  he  has  the  art  of  compiling,  and  of  saying  every 
thing  he  has  to  say  in  a  pleasing  manner.  He  is  now  writing  a 
Natural  History,  and  will  make  it  as  entertaining  as  a  Persian 
tale." 

The  Natural  History  to  which  Johnson  alluded  was  the 
"  History  of  Animated  Nature,"  which  Goldsmith  commenced 
in  1769,  under  an  engagement  with  Griflin,  the  bookseller,  to 
complete  it  as  soon  as  possible  in  eight  volumes,  each  containing 
upwards  of  four  hundred  pages,  in  pica ;  a  hundred  guineas  to 
be  paid  to  the  author  on  the  delivery  of  each  volume  in  manu- 
script. 

He  was  induced  to  engage  in  this  work  by  the  urgent  solici- 
tations of  the  booksellers,  who  had  been  struck  by  the  sterling 
merits  and  captivating  style  of  an  introduction  which  he  wrote 
to  Brookes's  Natural  History.  It  was  Goldsmith  intention 
originally  to  make  a  translation  of  Pliny,  with  a  popular  com- 
mentary ;  but  the  appearance  of  Bufi"on's  work  induced  him  to 


HISTORY  OF  ANIMATED  NATURE.  233 


change  his  plan,  and  make  use  of  that  author  for  a  guide  and 
model. 

Cumberland,  speaking  of  this  work,  observes :  ''  Distress 
drove  Goldsmith  upon  undertakings  neither  congenial  with  his 
studies  nor  worthy  of  his  talents.  I  remember  him  when,  in  his 
chambers  in  the  Temple,  he  showed  me  the  beginning  of  his 
'  Animated  Nature ;'  it  was  with  a  sigh,  such  as  genius  draws 
when  hard  necessity  diverts  it  from  its  bent  to  drudge  for  bread, 
and  talk  of  birds,  and  beasts,  and  creeping  things,  which  Pidock's 
showman  would  have  done  as  well.  Poor  fellow,  he  hardly 
knows  an  ass  from  a  mule,  nor  a  turkey  from  a  goose,  but  when 
he  sees  it  on  the  table." 

Others  of  Groldsmith's  friends  entertained  similar  ideas  with 
respect  to  his  fitness  for  the  task,  and  they  were  apt  now  and  then 
to  banter  him  on  the  subject,  and  to  amuse  themselves  with  his 
easy  credulity.  The  custom  among  the  natives  of  Otaheite  of 
eating  dogs  being  once  mentioned  in  company.  Goldsmith  observed 
that  a  similar  custom  prevailed  in  China ;  that  a  dog-butcher  is 
as  common  there  as  any  other  butcher ;  and  that,  when  he  walks 
abroad,  all  the  dogs  fall  on  him.  Johnson. — "  That  is  not  owing 
to  his  killing  dogs  ;  sir,  I  remember  a  butcher  at  Litchfield, 
whom  a  dog  that  was  in  the  house  where  I  lived  always  attacked. 
It  is  the  smell  of  carnage  which  provokes  this,  let  the  animals  he 
has  killed  be  what  they  may."  Goldsmith. — "  Yes,  there  is  a 
general  abhorrence  in  animals  at  the  signs  of  massacre.  If  you 
put  a  tub  full  of  blood  into  a  stable,  the  horses  are  likely  to  go 
mad."  Johnson. — "I  doubt  that."  Goldsmith. — "Nay,  sir,  it 
is  a  fact  well  authenticated."  Thrale. — "  You  had  better  prove 
it  before  you  put  it  into  your  book  on  Natural  History.  You 
may  do  it  in  my  stable  if  you  will."     Johnson. — "  Nay,  sir,  I 


234  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

would  not  liave  him  prove  it.  If  he  is  content  to  take  his  infor- 
mation from  others,  he  may  get  through  his  book  with  little  trou- 
ble, and  without  much  endangering  his  reputation.  But  if  he 
makes  experiments  for  so  comprehensive  a  book  as  his,  there 
would  be  no  end  to  them ;  his  erroneous  assertions  would  fall 
then  upon  himself;  and  he  might  be  blamed  for  not  having  made 
experiments  as  to  every  particular." 

Johnson's  original  prediction,  however,  with  respect  to  this 
work,  that  Goldsmith  w^ould  make  it  as  entertaining  as  a  Persian 
tale,  was  verified ;  and  though  much  of  it  was  borrowed  from 
Buffon,  and  but  little  of  it  written  from  his  own  observation ; 
though  it  was  by  no  means  profound,  and  was  chargeable  with 
many  errors,  yet  the  charms  of  his  style  and  the  play  of  his 
happy  disposition  throughout  have  continued  to  render  it  far 
more  popular  and  readable  than  many  v/orks  on  the  subject  of 
much  greater  scope  and  science.  Cumberland  was  mistaken, 
however,  in  his  notion  of  Goldsmith's  ignorance  and  lack  of  ob- 
servation as  to  the  characteristics  of  animals.  On  the  contrary, 
he  was  a  minute  and  shrewd  observer  of  them ;  but  he  observed 
them  with  the  eye  of  a  poet  and  moralist  as  well  as  a  naturalist. 
We  quote  two  passages  from  his  works  illustrative  of  this  fact, 
and  we  do  so  the  more  readily  because  they  are  in  a  manner  a 
part  of  his  history,  and  give  us  another  peep  into  his  private  life 
in  the  Temple ;  of  his  mode  of  occupying  himself  in  his  lonely 
and  apparently  idle  moments,  and  of  another  class  of  acquaint- 
ances which  he  made  there. 

Speaking  in  his  "Animated  Nature"  of  the  habitudes  of 
Rooks,  "  I  have  often  amused  myself,"  says  he,  "  with  observing 
their  plans  of  policy  from  my  window  in  the  Temple,  that  looks 
upon  a  grove,  where  they  have  made  a  colony  in  the  midst  of  a 


ANECDOTES  OF  A  SPIDER.  23S. 


city.  At  the  commencement  of  spring  the  rookery,  which,  during 
the  continuance  of  winter,  seemed  to  have  been  deserted,  or  only 
guarded  by  about  five  or  six,  like  old  soldiers  in  a  garrison,  now 
begins  to  be  once  more  frequented ;  and  in  a  short  time,  all  the 
bustle  and  hurry  of  business  will  be  fairly  commenced." 

The  other  passage  which  we  take  the  liberty  to  quote  at  some 
length,  is  from  an  admirable  paper  in  the  Bee,  and  relates  to  the 
House_Spider. 

"  Of  all  the  solitary  insects  I  have  ever  remarked,  the  spider 
is  the  most  sagacious,  and  its  motions  to  me,  who  have  attentively 
considered  them,  seem  almost  to  exceed  belief.  *  *  * 
I  perceived,  about  four  years  ago,  a  large  spider  in  one  corner  of 
my  room  making  its  web ;  and,  though  the  maid  frequently 
levelled  her  broom  against  the  labors  of  the  little  animal,  I 
had  the  good  fortune  then  to  prevent  its  destruction,  and  I  may 
say  it  more  than  paid  me  by  the  entertainment  it  afforded. 

"  In  three  days  the  web  was,  with  incredible  diligence,  com- 
pleted ;  nor  could  I  avoid  thinking  that  the  insect  seemed  to 
exult  in  its  new  abode.  It  frequently  traversed  it  round,  exa- 
mined the  strength  of  every  part  of  it,  retired  into  its  hole,  and 
came  out  very  frequently.  The  first  enemy,  however,  it  had  to 
encounter  was  another  and  a  much  larger  spider,  which,  having 
no  web  of  its  own,  and  having  probably  exhausted  all  its  stock  in 
former  labors  of  this  kind,  came  to  invade  the  propert}^  of  its 
neighbor.  Soon,  then,  a  terrible  encounter  ensued,  in  which  the 
invader  seemed  to  have  the  victory,  and  the  laborious  spider  was 
obliged  to  take  refuge  in  its  hole.  Upon  this  I  perceived  the 
victor  using  every  art  to  draw  the  enemy  from  its  stronghold. 
He  seemed  to  go  ofi*,  but  quickly  returned ;  and  when  he  found 
all  arts  in  vain,  began  to  demolish  the  new  web  without  mercy. 


236  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


This  brought  on  another  battle,  and,  contrary  to  my  expectations, 
the  laborious  spider  became  conquerer,  and  fairly  killed  his  antago- 
nist. 

"  Now,  then,  in  peaceable  possession  of  what  was  justly  its 
own,  it  waited  three  days  with  the  utmost  impatience,  repairing 
the  breaches  of  its  web,  and  taking  no  sustenance  that  I  could 
perceive.  At  last,  however,  a  large  blue  fly  fell  into  the  snare, 
and  struggled  hard  to  get  loose.  The  spider  gave  it  leave  to  en- 
tangle itself  as  much  as  possible,  but  it  seemed  to  be  too  strong 
for  the  cobweb.  I  must  own  I  was  greatly  surprised  when  I  saw 
the  spider  immediately  sally  out,  and  in  less  than  a  minute 
weave  a  new  net  round  its  captive,  by  which  the  motion  of  its 
wings  was  stopped ;  and,  when  it  was  fairly  hampered  in  this 
manner,  it  was  seized  and  dragged  into  the  hole. 

"  In  this  manner  it  lived,  in  a  precarious  state  ;  and  nature 
seemed  to  have  fitted  it  for  such  a  life,  for  upon  a  single  fly  it 
subsisted  for  more  than  a  week.  I  once  put  a  wasp  into  the  net ; 
but  when  the  spider  came  out  in  order  to  seize  it  as  usual,  upon 
perceiving  what  kind  of  an  enemy  it  had  to  deal  with,  it  instantly 
broke  all  the  bands  that  held  it  fast,  and  contributed  all  that  lay 
in  its  power  to  disengage  so  formidable  an  antagonist.  When 
the  wasp  was  set  at  liberty,  I  expected  the  spider  would  have  set 
about  repairing  the  breaches  that  were  made  in  its  net;  but 
those,  it  seems,  were  irreparable :  wherefore  the  cobweb  was  now 
entirely  forsaken,  and  a  new  one  begun,  which  was  completed  in 
tie  usual  time. 

"  I  had  now  a  mind  to  try  how  many  cobwebs  a  single  spider 
could  furnish;  wherefore  I  destroyed  this,  and  the  insect  set 
about  another.  When  I  destroyed  the  other  also,  its  whole  stock 
seemed  entirely  exhausted,  and  it  could  spin  no  more.     The  arts 


ANECDOTES  OF  A  SPIDER.  237 


it  made  use  of  to  support  itself,  now  deprived  of  its  great  means 
of  subsistence,  were  indeed  surprising.  I  have  seen  it  roll  up  its 
legs  like  a  ball,  and  lie  motionless  for  hours  together,  but  cau- 
tiously watching  all  the  time :  when  a  fly  happened  to  approach 
sufficiently  near,  it  would  dart  out  all  at  once,  and  often  seize  its 
prey. 

"  Of  this  life,  however,  it  soon  began  to  grow  weary,  and  re- 
solved to  invade  the  possession  of  some  other  spider,  since  it 
could  not  make  a  web  of  its  ovs^n.  It  formed  an  attack  upon  a 
neighboring  fortification  with  great  vigor,  and  at  first  was  as 
vigorously  repulsed.  Not  daunted,  however,  with  one  defeat,  in 
this  manner  it  continued  to  lay  siege  to  another's  web  for  three 
days,  and  at  length,  having  killed  the  defendant,  actually  took 
possession.  When  smaller  flies  happen  to  fall  into  the  snare,  the 
spider  does  not  sally  out  at  once,  but  very  patiently  waits  till  it 
is  sure  of  them ;  for,  upon  his  immediately  approaching,  the  ter- 
ror of  his  appearance  might  give  the  captive  strength  sufficient 
to  get  loose ;  the  manner,  then,  is  to  wait  patiently,  till,  by  inef- 
fectual and  impotent  struggles,  the  captive  has  wasted  all  its 
strength,  and  then  he  becomes  a  certain  and  easy  conquest^^^. 

"  The  insect  I  am  now  describing  lived  three  years ;  every 
year  it  changed  its  skin  and  got  a  new  set  of  legs.  I  have  some- 
times plucked  off"  a  leg,  which  grew  again  in  two  or  three  days. 
At  first  it  dreaded  my  approach  to  its  web,  but  at  last  it  became 
so  familiar  as  to  take  a  fly  out  of  my  hand  ;  and,  upon  my  touch- 
ing any  part  of  the  web,  would  immediately  leave  its  hole,  pre- 
pared either  for  a  defence  or  an  attack." 


238  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Honors  at  the  Royal  Academy. — Letter  to  his  brother  Maurice. — Family  for- 
tunes.— Jane   Contarine  and  the  miniature. — Portraits  and  engravings. — , 
School  associations. — Jolmson  and  Goldsmith  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

The  latter  part  of  the  year  1768  had  been  made  memorable  in 
the  world  of  taste  by  the  institution  of  the  Royal  Academy  of 
Arts,  under  the  patronage  of  the  King,  and  the  direction  of 
forty  of  the  most  distinguished  artists.  Reynolds,  who  had  been 
mainly  instrumental  in  founding  it,  had  been  unanimously  elected 
president,  and  had  thereupon  received  the  honor  of  knighthood.* 
Johnson  was  so  delighted  with  his  friend's  elevation,  that  he 
broke  through  a  rule  of  total  abstinence  with  respect  to  wine, 
which  he  had  maintained  for  several  years,  and  drank  bumpers 
on  the  occasion.  Sir  Joshua  eagerly  sought  to  associate  his  old 
and  valued  friends  with  him  in  his  new  honors,  and  it  is  sup- 
posed to  be  through  his  suggestions  that,  on  the  first  establish- 
ment of  professorships,  which  took  place  in  December,  1769, 
Johnson  was  nominated  to  that  of  Ancient  Literature,  and  Gold- 

*  We  must  apologize  for  the  anachronism  we  have  permitted  ourselves  in 
the  course  of  this  memoir,  in  speaking  of  Reynolds  as  Sir  Joshua,  when  treat- 
ing of  circumstances  which  occurred  prior  to  his  being  dubbed  ;  but  it  is  so 
customary  to  speak  of  him  by  that  title,  that  we  found  it  difficult  to  dispense 
with  it. 


LETTER  TO  HIS  BROTHER  MAURICE.  239 


smith  to  that  of  History.  They  were  mere  honorary  titles,  with- 
out emolument,  but  gave  distinction,  from  the  noble  institution 
to  which  they  appertained.  They  also  gave  the  possessors  hon- 
orable places  at  the  annual  banquet,  at  which  were  assembled 
many  of  the  most  distinguished  persons  of  rank  and  talent,  all 
proud  to  be  classed  among  the  patrons  of  the  arts. 

The  following  letter  of  Goldsmith  to  his  brother  alludes  to 
the  foregoing  appointment,  and  to  a  small  legacy  bequeathed  to 
him  by  his  uncle  Contarine. 

"  To  Mr.  Maurice  Goldsmith.,  at  James  Lawder^s.  Esq..,  at  Kil- 
more^  near  Car  rick-on- Shannon. 

"  January,  1770. 

"  Dear  Brother, — I  should  have  answered  your  letter  soon- 
er, but,  in  truth,  I  am  not  fond  of  thinking  of  the  necessities  of 
those  I  love,  when  it  is  so  very  little  in  my  power  to  help  them. 
I  am  sorry  to  find  you  are  every  way  unprovided  for ;  and  what 
adds  to  my  uneasiness  is,  that  I  have  received  a  letter  from 
my  sister  Johnson,  by  which  I  learn  that  she  is  pretty  much 
in  the  same  circumstances.  As  to  myself,  I  believe  I  think 
I  could  get  both  you  and  my  poor  brother-in-law  something  like 
that  which  you  desire,  but  I  am  determined  never  to  ask  for 
little  things,  nor  exhaust  any  little  interest  I  may  have,  until 
I  can  serve  you,  him,  and  myself  more  effectually.  As  yet,  no 
opportunity  has  offered ;  but  I  believe  you  are  pretty  well  con- 
vinced that  I  will  not  be  remiss  when  it  arrives. 

"  The  king  has  lately  been  pleased  to  make  me  professor  of 
Ancient  History  in  the  royal  academy  of  painting  which  he  has 
just  established,  but  there  is  no  salary  annexed  ;  and  I  took  it 
rather  as  a  compliment  to  the  institution  than  any  benefit  to 


240  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


myself.  Honors  to  one  in  my  situation  are  something  like 
ruffles  to  one  that  wants  a  shirt. 

"  You  tell  me  that  there  are  fourteen  or  fifteen  pounds 
left  me  in  the  hands  of  my  cousin  Lawder,  and  you  ask 
me  what  I  would  have  done  with  them.  My  dear  brother,  I 
would  by  no  means  give  any  directions  to  my  dear  worthy  rela- 
tions at  Kilmore  how  to  dispose  of  money  which  is,  properly 
speaking,  more  theirs  than  mine.  All  that  I  can  say  is,  that  I 
entirely,  and  this  letter  will  serve  to  witness,  give  up  any  right 
and  title  to  it ;  and  I  am  sure  they  will  dispose  of  it  to  the  best 
advantage.  To  them  I  entirely  leave  it ;  whether  they  or  you 
may  think  the  whole  necessary  to  fit  you  out,  or  whether  our 
poor  sister  Johnson  may  not  want  the  half,  I  leave  entirely  to 
their  and  your  discretion.  The  kindness  of  that  good  couple 
to  our  shattered  family  demands  our  sincerest  gratitude ;  and, 
though  they  have  almost  forgotten  me,  yet,  if  good  things  at  last 
arrive,  I  hope  one  day  to  return  and  increase  their  good-humor 
by  adding  to  my  own. 

"  I  have  sent  my  cousin  Jenny  a  miniature  picture  of  myself, 
as  I  believe  it  is  the  most  acceptable  present  I  can  oiFer.  I  have 
ordered  it  to  be  left  for  her  at  George  Faulkner's,  folded  in  a 
letter.  The  face,  you  well  know  is  ugly  enough,  but  it  is  finely 
painted.  I  will  shortly  also  send  my  friends  over  the  Shannon 
some  mezzotinto  prints  of  myself,  and  some  more  of  my  friends 
here,  such  as  Burke,  Johnson,  Reynolds,  and  Colraan.  I 
believe  I  have  written  a  hundred  letters  to  different  friends  in 
your  country,  and  never  received  an  answer  to  any  of  them.  I 
do  not  know  how  to  account  for  this,  or  why  they  are  unwilling 
to  keep  up  for  me  those  regards  which  I  must  ever  retain  for 
them. 


A  SHATTERED  FAMILY.  241 


"  If,  then,  you  have  a  mind  to  oblige  me,  you  will  write  often, 
whether  I  answer  you  or  not.  Let  me  particularly  have  the 
news  of  our  family  and  old  acquaintances.  For  instance,  you 
may  begin  by  telling  me  about  the  family  where  you  reside,  how 
they  spend  their  time,  and  whether  they  ever  make  mention  of 
me.  Tell  me  about  my  mother,  my  brother  Hodson  and  his 
son,  my  brother  Harry's  son  and  daughter,  my  sister  Johnson, 
the  family  of  Ballyoughter,  what  is  become  of  them,  where  they 
live,  and  how  they  do.  You  talked  of  being  my  only  brother  :  I 
don't  understand  you.  Where  is  Charles  ?  A  sheet  of  paper 
occasionally  filled  with  the  news  of  this  kind  would  make  me 
very  happy,  and  would  keep  you  nearer  my  mind.  'As  it  is,  my 
dear  brother,  believe  me  to  be 

"  Yours,  most  affectionately, 

"  Oliver  G  oldsmith." 

By  this  letter  we  find  the  Goldsmiths  the  same  shifting, 
shiftless  race  as  formerly ;  a  "  shattered  family,"  scrambling  on 
each  other's  back  as  soon  as  any  rise  above  the  surface.  Mau- 
rice is  "  every  way  unprovided  for  :"  living  upon  cousin  Jane  and 
her  husband  ;  and,  perhaps,  amusing  himself  by  hunting  otter  in 
the  river  Inny.  Sister  Johnson  and  her  husband  are  as  poorly 
off  as  Maurice,  with,  perhaps,  no  one  at  hand  to  quarter  them- 
selves upon  ;  as  to  the  rest,  "  what  is  become  of  them  ;  where  do 
they  live  ;  how  do  they  do  ;  what  is  become  of  Charles  ?"  What 
forlorn,  hap-hazard  life  is  implied  by  these  questions  !  Can  we 
wonder  that,  with  all  the  love  for  his  native  place,  which  is  shown 
throughout  Goldsmith's  writings,  he  had  not  the  heart  to  return 
there  ?     Yet  his  affections  are  still  there.     He  wishes  to  know 

11 


S42  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


■wlietlier  the  Lawders  (which  means  his  cousin  Jane,  his  early 
Valentine)  ever  make  mention  of  him  ;  he  sends  Jane  his  minia- 
ture ;  he  believes  "  it  is  the  most  acceptable  present  he  can  offer;" 
he  evidently,  therefore,  does  not  believe  she  has  almost  forgot- 
ten him,  although  he  intimates  that  he  does :  in  his  memory  she 
is  still  Jane  Contarine,  as  he  last  saw  her,  when  he  accompanied 
her  harpsichord  with  his  flute.  Absence,  like  death,  sets  a  seal 
on  the  image  of  those  we  have  loved  ;  we  cannot  realize  the  inter- 
vening changes  which  time  may  have  effected. 

As  to  the  rest  of  Goldsmith's  relatives,  he  abandons  his  legacy 
of  fifteen  pounds,  to  be  shared  among  them.  It  is  all  he  has  to 
give.  His  heedless  improvidence  is  eating  up  the  pay  of  the 
booksellers  in  advance.  With  all  his  literary  success,  he  has 
neither  money  nor  influence ;  but  he  has  empty  fame,  and  he 
is  ready  to  participate  with  them  ;  he  is  honorary  professor,  with- 
out pay ;  his  portrait  is  to  be  engraved  in  mezzotint,  in  company 
with  those  of  his  friends,  Burke,  Reynolds,  Johnson,  Colman, 
and  others,  and  he  will  send  prints  of  them  to  his  friends  over 
the  Shannon,  though  they  may  not  have  a  house  to  hang  them 
up  in.  What  a  motley  letter  !  How  indicative  of  the  motley 
character  of  the  writer !  By  the  by,  the  publication  of  a  splen- 
did mezzotinto  engraving  of  his  likeness  by  Beynolds,  was  a  great 
matter  of  glorification  to  Goldsmith,  especially  as  it  appeared  in 
such  illustrious  company.  As  he  was  one  day  walking  the  streets 
in  a  state  of  high  elation,  from  having  just  seen  it  figuring  in  the 
print-shop  windows,  he  met  a  young  gentleman  with  a  newly 
married  wife  hanging  on  his  arm,  whom  he  immediately  recog- 
nized for  Master  Bishop,  one  of  the  boys  he  had  petted  and 
treated  with  sweetmeats  when  a  humble  usher  at  Milner's  school. 


PORTRAITS— JOHNSON  AT  THE  ABBEY.  243 


The  kindly  feelings  of  old  times  revived,  and  he  accosted  him 
with  cordial  familiarity,  though  the  youth  may  have  found  some 
difficulty  in  recognizing  in  the  personage,  arrayed,  perhaps,  in 
garments  of  Tyrian  dye,  the  dingy  pedagogue  of  the  Milners. 
"  Come,  my  boy,"  cried  Groldsmith,  as  if  still  speaking  to  a  school- 
boy, ''  Come,  Sam,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you.  I  must  treat  you 
to  something — what  shall  it  be  ?  Will  you  have  some  apples  ?" 
glancing  at  an  old  woman's  stall ;  then,  recollecting  the  print- 
shop  window :  "  Sam,"  said  he,  "  have  you  seen  my  picture  by  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  ?  Have  you  seen  it,  Sam  ?  Have  you  got  an 
engraving  ?"  Bishop  was  caught ;  he  equivocated ;  he  had  not 
yet  bought  it ;  but  he  was  furnishing  his  house,  and  had  fixed 
upon  the  place  where  it  was  to  be  hung.  "  Ah,  Sam !"  re- 
joined Goldsmith  reproachfully,  "  if  your  picture  had  been  pub- 
lished, I  should  not  have  waited  an  hour  without  having  it." 

After  all,  it  was  honest  pride,  not  vanity,  in  Goldsmith,  that 
was  gratified  at  seeing  his  portrait  deemed  worthy  of  being  per- 
petuated by  the  classic  pencil  of  Reynolds,  and  "  hung  up  in 
history"  beside  that  of  his  revered  friend,  Johnson,  E.ven  the 
great  moralist  himself  was  not  insensible  to  a  feeling  of  this  kind. 
Walking  one  day  with  Goldsmith,  in  Westminster  Abbey,  among 
the  tombs  of  monarchs,  warriors,  and  statesmen,  they  came  to  the 
sculptured  mementos  of  literary  worthies  in  poets'  corner.  Cast- 
ing his  eye  round  upon  these  memorials  of  genius,  Johnson  mut- 
tered in  a  low  tone  to  his  companion, 

Forsitan  et  nostrum  nomen  miscebitur  istis. 
Goldsmith  treasured  up  the  intimated  hope,  and  shortly  after- 


244  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


wards,  as  they  were  passing  by  Temple-bar,  where  the  heads  of 
Jacobite  rebels,  executed  for  treason,  were  mouldering  aloft  on 
spikes,  pointed  up  to  the  grizzly  mementos,  and  echoed  the  inti- 
mation, 

Forsitan  et  nostrum  nomen  miscebitur  istis. 


THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE.  245 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Publication  of  the  Deserted  Village — notices  and  illustrations  of  it. 

Several  years  had  now  elapsed  since  the  publication  of  The 
Traveller,  and  much  wonder  was  expressed  that  the  great  success 
of  that  poem  had  not  excited  the  author  to  further  poetic  at- 
tempts. On  being  questioned  at  the  annual  dinner  of  the  Royal 
Academy  by  the  Earl  of  Lisburn,  why  he  neglected  the  muses  to 
compile  histories  and  write  novels,  "  My  Lord,"  replied  he,  "  by 
courting  the  muses  I  shall  starve,  but  by  my  other  labors  I  eat, 
drink,  have  good  clothes,  and  can  enjoy  the  luxuries  of  life." 
So,  also,  on  being  asked  by  a  poor  writer  what  was  the  most 
profitable  mode  of  exercising  the  pen,  "  My  dear  fellow,"  replied 
he,  good-humoredly,  "  pay  no  regard  to  the  draggle-tailed  muses  ; 
for  my  part  I  have  found  productions  in  prose  much  more  sought 
after  and  better  paid  for." 

Still,  however,  as  we  have  heretofore  shown,  he  found  sweet 
moments  of  dalliance  to  steal  away  from  his  prosaic  toils,  and 
court  the  muse  among  the  green  lanes  and  hedge-rows  in  the 
rural  environs  of  London,  and  on  the  26th  of  May,  1770,  he  was 
enabled  to  bring  his  Deserted  Village  before  the  public. 

The  popularity  of  The  Traveller  had  prepared  the  way  for 
this  poem,  and  its  sale  was  instantaneous  and  immense.     The 


S46  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


first  edition  was  immediately  exhausted ;  in  a  few  days  a  second 
was  issued;  in  a  few  days  more  a  third,  and  by  the  16th  of 
August  the  fifth  edition  was  hurried  through  the  press.  As  is 
the  case  with  popular  writers,  he  had  become  his  own  rival,  and 
critics  were  inclined  to  give  the  preference  to  his  first  poem ;  but 
with  the  public  at  large  we  believe  the  Deserted  Village  has  ever 
been  the  greatest  favorite.  Previous  to  its  publication  the  book- 
seller gave  him  in  advance  a  note  for  the  price  agreed  upon,  one 
hundred  guineas.  As  the  latter  was  returning  home  he  met  a 
friend  to  whom  he  mentioned  the  circumstance,  and  who  appa- 
rently judging  of  poetry  by  quantity  rather  than  quality,  observed 
that  it  was  a  great  sum  for  so  small  a  poem.  "  In  truth,"  said 
Goldsmith,  "  I  think  so  too ;  it  is  much  more  than  the  honest 
man  can  afi'ord  or  the  piece  is  worth.  I  have  not  been  easy  since 
I  received  it."  In  fact,  he  actually  returned  the  note  to  the  book- 
seller, and  left  it  to  him  to  graduate  the  payment  according  to  the 
success  of  the  work.  The  bookseller,  as  may  well  be  supposed, 
soon  repaid  him  in  full  with  many  acknowledgments  of  his  dis- 
interestedness. This  anecdote  has  been  called  in  question,  we 
know  not  on  what  grounds ;  we  see  nothing  in  it  incompatible 
with  the  character  of  Goldsmith,  who  was  very  impulsive,  and 
prone  to  acts  of  inconsiderate  generosity. 

As  we  do  not  pretend  in  this  summary  memoir  to  go  into  a 
criticism  or  analysis  of  any  of  Goldsmith's  writings,  we  shall  not 
dwell  upon  the  peculiar  merits  of  this  poem ;  we  cannot  help 
noticing,  however,  how  truly  it  is  a  mirror  of  the  author's  heart, 
and  of  all  the  fond  pictures  of  early  friends  and  early  life  for 
ever  present  there.  It  seems  to  us  as  if  the  very  last  accounts 
received  from  home,  of  his  "  shattered  family,"  and  the  desola- 
tion that  seemed  to  have  settled  upon  the  haunts  of  his  child- 


THOUGHTS  OF  HOME.  24t 


liood,  had  cut  to  the  roots  one  feebly  cherished  hope,  and  pro- 
duced the  following  excpisitely  tender  and  mournful  lines  : 

"  In  all  my  wand'rings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs — and  God  has  giv'n  my  share — 
I  still  had  hopes  my  latest  hours  to  crown. 
Amid  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down ; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close. 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose  ; 
I  still  had  hopes,  for  pride  attends  us  still. 
Amid  the  swains  to  show  my  book-learn'd  skill, 
Around  my  fire  an  ev'ning  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt  and  all  I  saw  ; 
And  as  a  hare,  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  she  flew ; 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return — and  die  at  home  at  last." 

How  touchingly  expressive  are  the  succeeding  lines,  wrung 
from  a  heart  which  all  the  trials  and  temptations  and  buffetings 
of  the  world  could  not  render  worldly ;  which,  amid  a  thousand 
follies  and  errors  of  the  head,  still  retained  its  childlike  inno- 
cence ;  and  which,  doomed  to  struggle  on  to  the  last  amidst  the 
din  and  turmoil  of  the  metropolis,  had  ever  been  cheating  itself 
with  a  dream  of  rural  quiet  and  seclusion : 

Oh  bless'd  retirement  I  friend  to  life's  decline. 
Retreats  from  care,  that  never  must  he  mine. 
How  blest  is  he  who  crowns,  in  shades  like  these, 
A  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease  ; 
Who  quits  a  world  where  strong  temptations  try. 
And,  since  'tis  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly  ! 


248  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


For  him  no  wretches,  born  to  work  and  weep, 
Explore  the  mine,  or  tempt  the  dangerous  deep 
Nor  surly  porter  stands,  in  guilty  state, 
To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate  ; 
But  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end. 
Angels  around  befriending  virtue's  friend  ; 
Sinks  to  the  grave  with  unperfeived  decay. 
While  resignation  gently  slopes  the  way  ; 
And  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last. 
His  heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  past. 


NOTE. 

The  following  article,  which  appeared  in  a  London  periodical, 
shows  the  effect  of  Goldsmith's  poem  in  renovating  the  fortunes 
of  Lissoy. 

"About  three  miles  from  Ballymahon,  a  very  central  town  in 
the  sister  kingdom,  is  the  mansion  and  village  of  Auburn,  so 
called  by  their  present  possessor,  Captain  Hogan.  Through  the 
taste  and  improvement  of  this  gentleman,  it  is  now  a  beautiful 
spot,  although  fifteen  years  since  it  presented  a  very  bare  and 
unpoetical  aspect.  This,  however,  was  owing  to  a  cause  which 
serves  strongly  to  corroborate  the  assertion,  that  Goldsmith  had 
this  scene  in  view  when  he  wrote  his  poem  of  '  The  Deserted 
Yillage '  The  then  possessor,  General  Napier,  turned  all  his 
tenants  out  of  their  farms  that  he  might  inclose  them  in  his 
own  private  domain.  Littleton,  the  mansion  of  the  general, 
stands  not  far  off,  a  complete  emblem  of  the  desolating  spirit 
lamented  by  the  poet,  dilapidated  and  converted  into  a 
barrack. 


LISSOY.  24a 


"  The  chief  object  of  attraction  is  Lissoy,  once  the  parsonage 
house  of  Henry  Goldsmith,  that  brother  to  whom  the  poet 
dedicated  his  '  Traveller,'  and  who  is  represented  as  the  village 
pastor, 

'  Passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year.' 

"  When  I  was  in  the  country,  the  lower  chambers  were  in- 
habited by  pigs  and  sheep,  and  the  drawing-rooms  by  oats. 
Captain  Hogan,  however,  has,  I  believe,  got  it  since  into  his 
possession,  and  has,  of  course,  improved  its  condition. 

"  Though  at  first  strongly  inclined  to  dispute  the  identity  of 
Auburn,  Lissoy  House  overcame  my  scruples.  As  I  clambered 
over  the  rotten  gate,  and  crossed  the  grass-grown  lawn  or  court, 
the  tide  of  association  became  too  strong  for  casuistry :  here  the 
poet  dwelt  and  wrote,  and  here  his  thoughts  fondly  recurred 
when  composing  his  '  Traveller'  in  a  foreign  land.  Yonder  was 
the  decent  church,  that  literally  '  topped  the  neighboring  hill.' 
Before  me  lay  the  little  hill  of  Knockrue,  on  which  he  declares, 
in  one  of  his  letters,  he  had  rather  sit  with  a  book  in  hand  than 
mingle  in  the  proudest  assemblies.  And,  above  all,  startlingly 
true,  beneath  my  feet  was 

*  Yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden  smiled. 
And  still  where  many  a  garden-flower  grows  wild.' 

"  A  painting  from  the  life  could  not  be  more  exact.  '  The 
otubborn  currant-bush'  lifts  its  head  above  the  rank  grass,  and 
the  proud  hollyhock  flaunts  where  its  sisters  of  the  flower-knot 
are  no  more. 

*'  In  the  middle  of  the  village  stands  the  old  '  hawthorn-tree,' 
11* 


256  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


built  up  with  masonry  to  distinguish  and  preserve  it ;  it  is  old 
and  stunted,  and  suffers  much  from  the  depredations  of  post- 
chaise  travellers,  who  generally  stop  to  procure  a  twig.  Oppo- 
site to  it  is  the  village  alehouse,  over  the  door  of  which  swings 
'  The  Three  Jolly  Pigeons.'  Within  every  thing  is  arranged 
according  to  the  letter : 

*  The  whitewash'd  wall,  the  nicely-sanded  floor. 
The  varnish'd  clock  that  click'd  behind  the  door: 
The  chest,  contrived  a  double  debt  to  pay, 
A  bed  by  night,  a  chest  of  drawers  by  day ; 
The  pictures  placed  for  ornament  and  use. 
The  twelve  good  rules,  the  royal  game  of  goose.' 

"  Captain  Hogan,  I  have  heard,  found  great  difficulty  in  ob- 
taining '  the  twelve  good  rules,'  but  at  length  purchased  them  at 
some  London  bookstall  to  adorn  the  whitewashed  parlor  of  '  The 
Three  Jolly  Pigeons.'  However  laudable  this  may  be,  nothing 
shook  my  faith  in  the  reality  of  Auburn  so  much  as  this  exact- 
ness, which  had  the  disagreeable  air  of  being  got  up  for  the 
occasion.  The  last  object  of  pilgrimage  is  the  quondam  habita- 
tion of  the  schoolmaster,  * 

*  There,  in  his  noisy  mansion,  skill'd  to  rule.* 
It  is  surrounded  with  fragrant  proofs  of  identity  in 

'  The  blossom'd  furze,  unprofitably  gay.' 

There  is  to  be  seen  the  chair  of  the  poet,  which  fell  into  the 
hands  of  its  present  possessors  at  the  wreck  of  the  parsonage- 
house  ;  they  have  frequently  refused  large  offers  of  purchase ; 


THE  POET'S  CHAIR.  SSf 


but  more,  I  dare  say,  for  the  sake  of  drawing  contributions  from 
the  curious  than  from  any  reverence  for  the  bard.  The  chair 
is  of  oak,  with  back  and  seat  of  cane,  which  precluded  all  hopes 
of  a  secret  drawer,  like  that  lately  discovered  in  Gray's.  There 
is  no  fear  of  its  being  worn  out  by  the  devout  earnestness  of  sit- 
ters— as  the  cocks  and  hens  have  usurped  undisputed  possession 
of  it,  and  protest  most  clamorously  against  all  attempts  to  get 
it  cleansed  or  to  seat  one's  self 

"  The  controversy  concerning  the  identity  of  this  Auburn 
was  formerly  a  standing  theme  of  discussion  among  the  learned 
of  the  neighborhood ;  but,  since  the  pros  and  cons  have  been  all 
ascertained,  the  argument  has  died  away.  Its  abettors  plead 
the  singular  agreement  between  the  local  history  of  the  place 
and  the  Auburn  of  the  poem,  and  the  exactness  with  which  the 
scenery  of  the  one  answers  to  the  description  of  the  other.  To 
this  is  opposed  the  mention  of  the  nightingale, 

'  And  fill'd  each  pause  the  nightingale  had  made  ;' 

there  being  no  such  bird  in  the  island.  The  objection  is 
slighted,  on  the  other  hand,  by  considering' the  passage  as  a 
mere  poetical  license.  '  Besides,'  say  they,  '  the  robin  is  the 
Irish  nightingale.'  And  if  it  be  hinted  how  unlikely  it  was  that 
Goldsmith  should  have  laid  the  scene  in  a  place  from  which  he 
was  and  had  been  so  long  absent,  the  rejoinder  is  always,  '  Pray, 
sir,  was  Milton  in  hell  when  he  built  Pandemonium  V 

"  The  line  is  naturally  drawn  between  ;  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  the  poet  intended  England  by 

*  The  land  to  hast'ning  ills  a  prey, 
"Where  wealth  accumulates  and  men  decay.' 


252  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


But  it  is  very  natural  to  suppose  that,  at  the  same  time,  his 
imagination  had  in  view  the  scenes  of  his  youth,  which  give 
such  strong  features  of  resemblance  to  the  picture." 


Best,  an  Irish  clergyman,  told  Davis,  the  traveller  in  Ame- 
rica, that  the  hawthorn-bush  mentioned  in  the  poem  was  still 
remarkably  large.  "  I  was  riding  once,"  said  he,  "  with  Brady, 
titular  Bishop  of  Ardagh,  when  he  observed  to  me,  'Ma  foy 
Best,  this  huge  overgrown  bush  is  mightily  in  the  way.  I  will 
order  it  to  be  cut  down.'  — '  What,  sir  !'  replied  I,  '  cut  down  the 
bush  that  supplies  so  beautiful  an  image  in  "  The  Deserted  Vil- 
lage ?"  ' — '  Ma  foy  !'  exclaimed  the  bishop,  '  is  that  the  hawthorn- 
bush  ?  Then  let  it  be  sacred  from  the  edge  of  the  axe,  and  evil 
be  to  him  that  should  cut  off  a  branch.' " — The  hawthorn-bush, 
however,  has  long  since  been  cut  up,  root  and  branch,  in  furnish- 
ing relics  to  literary  pilgrims. 


THE  POET  AMONG  THE  LADIES.  253 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

The  Poet  among  the  ladies — description  of  his  person  and  manners. — Expedi- 
tion to  Paris  with  the  Horneck  family. — The  traveller  of  twenty  and  the 
traveller  of  forty. — Hickey,  the  special  attorney. — An  unlucky  exploit. 

The  Deserted  Village  had  shed  an  additional  poetic  grace  round 
the  homely  person  of  the  author ;  he  was  becoming  more  and 
more  acceptable  in  ladies'  eyes,  and  finding  himself  more  and 
more  at  ease  in  their  society ;  at  least  in  the  society  of  those 
whom  he  met  in  the  Reynolds  circle,  among  whom  he  particu- 
larly affected  the  beautiful  family  of  the  Hornecks. 

But  let  us  see  what  were  really  the  looks  and  manners  of 
Goldsmith  about  this  time,  and  what  right  he  had  to  aspire  to 
ladies'  smiles  ;  and  in  so  doing  let  us  not  take  the  sketches  of  Bos- 
well  and  his  compeers,  who  had  a  propensity  to  represent  him  in 
caricature ;  but  let  us  take  the  apparently  truthful  and  discrimi- 
nating picture  of  him  as  he  appeared  to  Judge  Day,  when  the 
latter  was  a  student  in  the  Temple. 

"  In  person,"  says  the  judge,  "  he  was  short ;  about  five  feet 
five  or  six  inches ;  strong,  but  not  heavy  in  make ;  rather  fair  in 
complexion,  with  brown  hair ;  such,  at  least,  as  could  be  distin- 
guished from  his  wig.  His  features  were  plain,  but  not  repul- 
sive,— certainly  not  so  when  lighted  up  by  conversation.  His 
manners  were  simple,  natural,  and  perhaps  on  the  whole,  we  may 


254  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


say,  not  polished ;  at  least  without  the  refinement  and  good- 
breeding  which  the  exquisite  polish  of  his  compositions  would 
lead  us  to  expect.  He  was  always  cheerful  and  animated,  often, 
indeed,  boisterous  in  his  mirth ;  entered  with  spirit  into  convi- 
vial society ;  contributed  largely  to  its  enjoyments  by  solidity  of 
information,  and  the  naivete  and  originality  of  his  character; 
talked  often  without  premeditation,  and  laughed  loudly  without 
restraint." 

This,  it  will  be  recollected,  represents  him  as  he  appeared  to 
a  young  Templar,  who  probably  saw  him  only  in  Temple  coffee- 
houses, at  students'  quarters,  or  at  the  jovial  supper  parties  given 
at  the  poet's  own  chambers ;  here,  of  course,  his  mind  was  in  its 
rough  dress  ;  his  laugh  may  have  been  loud  and  his  mirth  bois- 
terous ;  but  we  trust  all  these  matters  became  softened  and 
modified  when  he  found  himself  in  polite  drawing-rooms  and  in 
female  society. 

But  what  say  the  ladies  themselves  of  him ;  and  here,  fortu- 
nately, we  have  another  sketch  of  him,  as  he  appeared  at  the 
time  to  one  of  the  Horneck  circle ;  in  fact,  we  believe,  to  the 
Jessamy  Bride  herself  After  admitting,  apparently,  with  some 
reluctance,  that  "  he  was  a  very  plain  man,"  she  goes  on  to  say, 
"  but  had  he  been  much  more  so,  it  was  impossible  not  to  love 
and  respect  his  goodness  of  heart,  which  broke  out  on  every  occa- 
sion. His  benevolence  was  unquestionable,  and  his  countenance 
bore  every  trace  of  it :  no  one  that  knew  him  intimately  could 
avoid  admiring  and  loving  his  good  qualities."  When  to  all  this 
we  add  the  idea  of  intellectual  delicacy  and  refinement  associated 
with  him  by  his  poetry  and  the  newly-plucked  bays  that  were 
flourishing  round  his  brow,  we  cannot  be  surprised  that  fine  and 
fashionable  ladies   should  be  proud  of  his  attentions,  and  that 


HINTS  AND   SURMISES.  255 


even  a  young  beauty  should  not  be  altogether  displeased  with 
the  thoughts  of  having  a  man  of  his  genius  in  her  chains. 

We  are  led  to  indulge  some  notions  of  the  kind  from  finding 
him  in  the  month  of  July,  but  a  few  weeks  after  the  publication 
of  the  Deserted  Village,  setting  oiF  on  a  six  weeks'  excursion  to 
Paris,  in  company  with  Mrs.  Horneck  and  her  two  beautiful 
daughters.  A  day  or  two  before  his  departure,  we  find  another 
new  gala  suit  charged  to  him  on  the  books  of  Mr.  William  Filby. 
Were  the  bright  eyes  of  the  Jessamy  Bride  responsible  for  this 
additional  extravagance  of  wardrobe  ?  Groldsmith  had  recently 
been  editing  the  works  of  Parnell ;  had  he  taken  courage  from 
the  example  of  Edwin  in  the  Fairy  tale  ? — 

"  Yet  spite  of  all  that  nature  did 
To  make  his  uncouth  form  forbid, 

This  creature  dared  to  love. 
He  felt  the  force  of  Edith's  eyes, 
Nor  wanted  hope  to  gain  the  prize 

Could  ladies  look  within " 

All  this  we  throw  out  as  mere  hints  and  surmises,  leaving  it 
to  our  readers  to  draw  their  own  conclusions.  It  will  be  found, 
however,  that  the  poet  was  subjected  to  shrewd  bantering  among 
his  contemporaries  about  the  beautiful  Mary  Horneck,  and  that 
he  was  extremely  sensitive  on  the  subject. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  June  that  he  set  out  for  Paris  with 
his  fair  companions,  and  the  following  letter  was  written  by  him 
to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  soon  after  the  party  landed  at  Calais :    - 

"  My  dear  Friend, 

"  We  had  a  very  quick  passage  from  Dover  to  Calais,  which 
*  we  performed  in  three  hours  and  twenty  minutes,  all  of  us  ex- 


256  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


tremely  sea-sick,  which  must  necessarily  have  happened,  as  my 
machine  to  prevent  sea-sickness  was  not  completed.  We  were 
glad  to  leave  Dover,  because  we  hated  to  be  imposed  upon ;  so 
were  in  high  spirits  at  coming  to  Calais,  where  we  were  told  that 
a  little  money  would  go  a  great  way. 

"  Upon  landing,  with  two  little  trunks,  which  was  all  we  carried 
with  us,  we  were  surprised  to  see  fourteen  or  fifteen  fellows  all 
running  down  to  the  ship  to  lay  their  hands  upon  them  ;  four  got 
under  each  trunk,  the  rest  surrounded  and  held  the  hasps  ;  and 
in  this  manner  our  little  baggage  was  conducted,  with  a  kind  of 
funeral  solemnity,  till  it  was  safely  lodged  at  the  custom-house. 
We  were  well  enough  pleased  with  the  people's  civility  till  they 
came  to  be  paid ;  every  creature  that  had  the  happiness  of  but 
touching  our  trunks  with  their  finger  expected  sixpence ;  and 
they  had  so  pretty  and  civil  a  manner  of  demanding  it,  that  there 
was  no  refusing  them. 

"  When  we  had  done  with  the  porters,  we  had  next  to  speak 
with  the  custom-house  ofiicers,  who  had  their  pretty  civil  way  too. 
We  were  directed  to  the  Hotel  d'Angleterre,  where  a  valet-de- 
place  came  to  ofi"er  his  service,  and  spoke  to  me  ten  minutes  be- 
fore I  once  found  out  that  he  was  speaking  English.  We  had  no 
occasion  for  his  services,  so  we  gave  him  a  little  money  because 
he  spoke  English,  and  because  he  wanted  it.  I  cannot  help 
mentioning  another  circumstance  :  I  bought  a  new  riband  for  my 
wig  at  Canterbury,  and  the  barber  at  Calais  broke  it  in  order  to 
gain  sixpence  by  buying  me  a  new  one." 

An  incident  which  occurred  in  the  course  of  this  tour  has  been 
tortured  by  that  literary  magpie,  Boswell,  into  a  proof  of  Gold- 
smith's absurd  jealousy  of  any  admiration  shown  to  others  in  his 


BOSWELL'S   ABSURDITIES.  257 


presence.  While  stopping  at  a  hotel  in  Lisle,  they  were  drawn  to 
the  windows  by  a  military  parade  in  front.  The  extreme  beauty 
of  the  Miss  Hornecks  immediately  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  officers,  who  broke  forth  with  enthusiastic  speeches  and  com- 
pliments intended  for  their  ears.  Goldsmith  was  amused  for  a 
while,  but  at  length  affected  impatience  at  this  exclusive  admira- 
tion of  his  beautiful  companions,  and  exclaimed,  with  mock  seve- 
rity of  aspect,  "  Elsewhere  I  also  would  have  my  admirers." 

It  is  difficult  to  conceive  the  obtuseness  of  intellect  necessary 
to  misconstrue  so  obvious  a  piece  of  mock  petulance  and  dry  hu- 
mor into  an  instance  of  mortified  vanity  and  jealous  self-conceit. 

Goldsmith  jealous  of  the  admiration  of  a  group  of  gay  officers 
for  the  charms  of  two  beautiful  young  women  !  This  even  out- 
Boswells  Boswell ;  yet  this  is  but  one  of  several  similar  absurdi- 
ties, evidently  misconceptions  of  Goldsmith's  peculiar  vein  of 
humor,  by  which  the  charge  of  envious  jealousy  has  been  at- 
tempted to  be  fixed  upon  him.  In  the  present  instance  it  was 
contradicted  by  one  of  the  ladies  herself,  who  was  annoyed  that 
it  had  been  advanced  against  him.  "  I  am  sure,"  said  she,  "  from 
the  peculiar  manner  of  his  humor,  and  assumed  frown  of  coun- 
tenance, what  was  often  uttered  in  jest  was  mistaken,  by  those 
who  did  not  know  him,  for  earnest."  No  one  was  more  prone  to 
err  on  this  point  than  Boswell.  He  had  a  tolerable  perception 
of  wit,  but  none  of  humor. 

The  following  letter  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  was  subsequently 
■written : 

"  To  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

"  Paris,  .Tuly  29,  (1770.) 
"  My  dear  Friend, — I  began  a  long  letter  to  you  from  Lisle, 
giving  a  description  of  all  that  we  had  done  and  seen,  but,  find- 


258  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


ing  it  very  dull,  and  knowiog  that  you  would  show  it  again,  I 
threw  it  aside  and  it  was  lost.  You  see  by  the  top  of  this  letter 
that  we  are  at  Paris,  and  (as  I  have  often  heard  you  say)  we  have 
brought  our  own  amusement  with  us,  for  the  ladies  do  not  seem 
to  be  very  fond  of  what  we  have  yet  seen. 

"  With  regard  to  myself,  I  find  that  travelling  at  twenty  and 
forty  are  very  different  things.  I  set  out  with  all  my  confirmed 
habits  about  me,  and  can  find  nothing  on  the  Continent  so  good 
as  when  I  formerly  left  it.  One  of  our  chief  amusements  here  is 
scolding  at  every  thing  we  meet  with,  and  praising  every  thing 
and  every  person  we  left  at  home.  You  may  judge,  therefore, 
whether  your  name  is  not  frequently  bandied  at  table  among  us. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  never  thought  I  could  regret  your  ab- 
sence so  much  as  our  various  mortifications  on  the  road  have 
often  taught  me  to  do.  I  could  tell  you  of  disasters  and  adven- 
tures without  number ;  of  our  lying  in  barns,  and  of  my  being 
half  poisoned  with  a  dish  of  green  peas  ;  of  our  quarrelling  with 
postillions,  and  being  cheated  by  our  landladies ;  but  I  reserve 
all  this  for  a  happy  hour  which  I  expect  to  share  with  you  upon 
my  return. 

"  I  have  little  to  tell  you  more  but  that  we  are  at  present  all 
well,  and  expect  returning  when  we  have  stayed  out  one  month, 
which  I  did  not  care  if  it  were  over  this  very  day.  I  long  to  hear 
from  you  all,  how  you  yourself  do,  how  Johnson,  Burke,  Dyer, 
Chamier,  Colman,  and  every  one  of  the  club  do.  I  wish  I  could 
send  you  some  amusement  in  this  letter,  but  I  protest  I  am  so 
stupefied  by  the  air  of  this  country  (for  I  am  sure  it  cannot  be 
natural)  that  I  have  not  a  word  to  say.  I  have  been  thinking  of 
th^  plot  of  a  comedy,  which  shall  be  entitled  A  Journey  to  Paris, 
in  which  a  family  shall  be  introduced  with  a  full  intention  of 


LETTER  TO  REYNOLDS.  259 


going  to  France  to  save  money.  You  know  there  is  not  a  place 
in  the  world  more  promising  for  that  purpose.  As  for  the  meat 
of  this  country,  I  can  scarce  eat  it ;  and,  though  we  pay  two  good 
shillings  a  head  for  our  dinner,  I  find  it  all  so  tough  that  I  have 
spent  less  time  with  my  knife  than  my  picktooth.  I  said  this  as 
a  good  thing  at  the  table,  but  it  was  not  understood.  I  believe 
it  to  be  a  good  thing. 

^  "As  for  our  intended  journey  to  Devonshire,  I  find  it  out  of 
my  power  to  perform  it ;  for,  as  soon  as  I  arrive  at  Dover,  I  in- 
tend to  let  the  ladies  go  on,  and  I  will  take  a  country  lodging 
somewhere  near  that  place  in  order  to  do  some  business.  I  have 
so  outrun  the  constable  that  I  must  mortify  a  little  to  bring  it  up 
again.  For  God's  sake,  the  night  you  receive  this,  take  your  pen 
in  your  hand  and  tell  me  something  about  yourself  and  myself, 
if  you  know  any  thing  that  has  happened.  About  Miss  Reynolds, 
about  Mr.  Bickerstaff,  my  nephew,  or  any  body  that  you  regard. 
I  beg  you  will  send  to  Griffin  the  bookseller  to  know  if  there  be 
any  letters  left  for  me,  and  be  so  good  as  to  send  them  to  me  at 
Paris.  They  may  perhaps  be  left  for  me  at  the  Porter's  Lodge, 
opposite  the  pump  in  Temple  Lane.  The  same  messenger  will 
do.  I  expect  one  from  Lord  Clare,  from  Ireland.  As  for  the 
others,  I  am  not  much  uneasy  about. 

'•  Is  there  any  thing  I  can  do  for  you  at  Paris  ?  I  wish  you 
would  tell  me.  The  whole  of  my  own  purchases  here  is  one  silk 
coat,  which  I  have  put  on,  and  which  makes  me  look  like  a  fool. 
But  no  more  of  that.  I  find  that  Colman  has  gained  his  lawsuit. 
I  am  glad  of  it.  I  suppose  you  often  meet.  I  will  soon  be 
among  you,  better  pleased  with  my  situation  at  home  than  I  ever 
was  before.  And  yet  I  must  say,  that  if  any  thing  could  make 
France  pleasant,  the  very  good  women  with  whom  I  am  at  pre- 


260  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


sent  would  certainly  do  it.  I  could  say  more  about  that,  but  I 
intend  showing  them  the  letter  before  I  send  it  away.  What  sig- 
nifies teazing  you  longer  with  moral  observations,  when  the  busi- 
ness of  my  writing  is  over  ?  I  have  one  thing  only  more  to  say, 
and  of  that  I  think  every  hour  in  the  day,  namely  that  I  am  your 
most  sincere  and  most  affectionate  friend,  v 

"  Oliver  Gtoldsmith. 
"  Direct  to  me  at  the  Hotel  de  Danemarc,  > 

Rue  Jacob,  Fauxbourg  St.  Germains."    ^  ♦ 

A  word  of  comment  on  this  letter : 

Travelling  is,  indeed,  a  very  different  thing  with  Goldsmith 
the  poor  student  at  twenty,  and  Goldsmith  the  poet  and  professor 
at  forty.  At  twenty,  though  obliged  to  trudge  on  foot  from  town 
to  town,  and  country  to  country,  paying  for  a  supper  and  a  bed 
by  a  tune  on  the  flute,  every  thing  pleased,  every  thing  was  good ; 
a  truckle  bed  in  a  garret  was  a  couch  of  down,  and  the  homely 
fare  of  the  peasant  a  feast  fit  for  an  epicure.  Now,  at  forty,  when 
he  posts  through  the  country  in  a  carriage,  with  fair  ladies  by  his 
side,  every  thing  goes  wrong :  he  has  to  quarrel  with  postillions, 
he  is  cheated  by  landladies,  the  hotels  are  barns,  the  meat  is  too 
tough  to  be  eaten,  and  he  is  half  poisoned  by  green  peas  !  A  line  in 
his  letter  explains  the  secret :  "  the  ladies  do  not  seem  to  be  very 
fond  of  what  we  have  yet  seen."  "  One  of  our  chief  amusements  is 
scolding  at  every  thing  we  meet  with,  and  praising  every  thing 
and  every  person  we  have  left  at  home  !"  the  true  English  tra- 
velling amusement.  Poor  Goldsmith  !  he  has  "  all  his  confirmed 
habits  about  him  ;"  that  is  to  say,  he  has  recently  risen  into  high 
life,  and  acquired  high-bred  notions ;  he  must  be  fastidious  like 
his  fellow-travellers ;  he  dare  not  be  pleased  with  what  pleased 
the  vulgar  tastes  of  his  youth.     He  is  unconsciously  illustrating 


THE   SPECIAL  ATTORNEY.  261 


the  trait  so  humorously  satirized  by  him  in  Bill  Tibbs,  the  shabby 
beau,  who  can  find  "  no  such  dressing  as  he  had  at  Lord  Crump's 
or  Lady  Crimp's ;"  whose  very  senses  have  grown  genteel,  and 
who  no  longer  "  smacks  at  wretched  wine  or  praises  detestable 
custard."  A  lurking  thorn,  too,  is  worrying  him  throughout  this 
tour ;  he  has  "  outrun  the  constable  ;"  that  is  to  say,  his  expenses 
have  outrun  his  means,  and  he  will  have  to  make  up  for  this  but- 
terfly flight  by  toiling  like  a  grub  on  his  return. 

Another  circumstance  contributes  to  mar  the  pleasure  he  had 
promised  himself  in  this  excursion.  At  Paris  the  party  is  unex- 
pectedly joined  by  a  Mr.  Hickey,  a  bustling  attorney,  who  is  well 
acquainted  with  that  metropolis  and  its  environs,  and  insists  on 
playing  the  cicerone  on  all  occasions.  He  and  Goldsmith  do  not 
relish  each  other,  and  they  have  several  petty  altercations.  The 
lawyer  is  too  much  a  man  of  business  and  method  for  the  careless 
poet,  and  is  disposed  to  manage  every  thing.  He  has  perceived 
Goldsmith's  whimsical  peculiarities  without  properly  appreciating 
his  merits,  and  is  prone  to  indulge  in  broad  bantering  and  raillery 
at  his  expense,  particularly  irksome  if  indulged  in  presence  of  the 
ladies.  He  makes  himself  merry  on  his  return  to  England,  by 
giving  the  following  anecdote  as  illustrative  of  Goldsmith's  vanity: 

"  Being  with  a  party  at  Versailles,  viewing  the  water-works, 
a  question  arose  among  the  gentlemen  present,  whether  the  dis- 
tance from  whence  they  stood  to  one  of  the  little  islands  was 
within  the  compass  of  a  leap.  Goldsmith  maintained  the  affirma- 
tive ;  but,  being  bantered  on  the  subject,  and  remembering  his 
former  prowess  as  a  youth,  attempted  the  leap,  but,  falling  short, 
descended  into  the  water,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  company." 

Was  the  Jessamy  Bride  a  witness  of  this  unlucky  exploit  ? 

This  same  Hickey  is  the  one  of  whom  Goldsmith,  some  time 


262  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


subsequently,  gave  a  good-humored  sketch,  in  his  poem  of  "  The 
Retaliation." 

"  Here  Hickey  reclines,  a  most  blunt,  pleasant  creature. 
And  slander  itself  must  allow  him  good  nature  ; 
He  cherish'd  his  friend,  and  he  relish'd  a  bumper. 
Yet  one  fault  he  had,  and  that  one  was  a  thumper. 
Perhaps  you  may  ask  if  the  man  was  a  miser ; 
I  answer  No,  no,  for  he  always  was  wiser ; 
Too  courteous,  perhaps,  or  obligingly  flat, 
His  very  worst  foe  can't  accuse  him  of  that ; 
Perhaps  he  confided  in  men  as  they  go. 
And  so  was  too  foolishly  honest  l     Ah,  no  ! 
Then  what  was  his  failing  ?     Come,  tell  it,  and  burn  ye — 
He  was,  could  he  help  it  ?  a  special  attorney." 

One  of  the  few  remarks  extant  made  by  Goldsmith  during  his 
tour  is  the  following,  of  whimsical  import,  in  his  "  Animated 
Nature." 

"  In  going  through  the  towns  of  France,  some  time  since,  I 
could  not  help  observing  how  much  plainer  their  parrots  spoke 
than  ours,  and  how  very  distinctly  I  understood  their  parrots 
speak  French,  when  I  could  not  understand  our  own,  though  tlicy 
spoke  my  native  language.  I  at  first  ascribed  it  to  the  different 
qualities  of  the  two  languages,  and  was  for  entering  into  an  ela- 
borate discussion  on  the  vowels  and  consonants  ;  but  a  friend  that 
was  with  me  solved  the  difl&culty  at  once,  by  assuring  me  that 
the  French  women  scarce  did  any  thing  else  the  whole  day  than 
sit  and  instruct  their  feathered  pupils ;  and  that  the  birds  were 
thus  distinct  in  their  lessons  in  consequence  of  continual 
schooling." 

His  tour  does  not  seem  to  have  left  in  his  memory  the  most 


TRAVELLING  HINW^^      ^  263 


fragrant  recollections  ;  for,  being  asked,  after  his  return,  whether 
travelling  on  the  Continent  repaid  "  an  Englishman  for  the  pri- 
vations and  annoyances  attendant  on  it,"  he  replied,  "  I  recom- 
mend it  by  all  means  to  the  sick,  if  they  are  without  the  sense  of 
smelling^  and  to  the  poor  if  they  are  without  the  sense  oi feeling; 
and  to  both  if  they  can  discharge  from  their  minds  all  idea  of 
what  in  England  we  term  comfort." 

It  is  needless  to  say,  that  the  universal  improvement  in  the 
art  of  living  on  the  Continent  has  at  the  present  day  taken  away 
the  force  of  Goldsmith's  reply,  though  even  at  the  time  it  was 
more  humorous  than  correct. 


264  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Death  of   Goldsmith's    mother. — Biography   of    Pamell. — Agreement   with 
Davies  for  the  History  of  Rome. — Life  of  Bolingbroke. — The  haunch  of 


On  his  return  to  England,  Goldsmith  received  the  melancholy 
tidings  of  the  death  of  his  mother.  Notwithstanding  the  fame 
as  an  author  to  which  he  had  attained,  she  seems  to  have  been 
disappointed  in  her  early  expectations  from  him.  Like  others 
of  his  family,  she  had  been  more  vexed  by  his  early  follies  than 
pleased  by  his  proofs  of  genius;  and  in  subsequent  years,  when  he 
had  risen  to  fame  and  to  intercourse  with  the  great,  had  been  an 
noyed  at  the  ignorance  of  the  world  and  want  of  management, 
which  prevented  him  from  pushing  his  fortune.  He  had  always, 
however,  been  an  affectionate  son,  and  in  the  latter  years  of  her 
life,  when  she  had  become  blind,  contributed  from  his  precarious 
resources  to  prevent  her  from  feeling  want. 

He  now  resumed  the  labors  of  the  pen,  which  his  recent  excur- 
sion to  Paris  rendered  doubly  necessary.  We  should  have  men- 
tioned a  Life  of  Parnell,  published  by  him  shortly  after  the  De- 
serted Village.  It  was,  as  usual,  a  piece  of  job-work,  hastily  got 
up  for  pocket-money.  Johnson  spoke  slightingly  of  it,  and  the 
author,  himself,  thought  proper  to  apologize  for  its  meagerness ; 
yet,  in  so  doing,  used  a  simile,  which  for  beauty  of  imagery  and 


A  POET'S  LIFE.  265 


felicity  of  language,  is  enough  of  itself  to  stamp  a  value  upon 
the  essay. 

"  Such,"  says  he,  "  is  the  very  unpoetical  detail  of  the  life  of 
a  poet.  Some  dates  and  some  few  facts,  scarcely  more  interesV 
iug  than  those  that  make  the  ornaments  of  a  country  tombstone, 
are  all  that  remain  of  one  whose  labors  now  begin  to  excite  un*- 
versal  curiosity.  A  poet,  while  living,  is  seldom  an  object  suffi- 
ciently great  to  attract  much  attention  ;  his  real  merits  are 
known  but  to  a  few,  and  these  are  generally  sparing  in  their 
praises.  When  his  fame  is  increased  by  time,  it  is  then  too  late 
to  investigate  the  peculiarities  of  his  disposition ;  tlie  dews  of 
morning  are  past^  and  lue  vainly  try  to  continue  the  chase  by  the 
meridian  splendor.^'' 

He  now  entered  into  an  agreement  with  Davies,  to  prepare  an 
abridgment  in  one  volume  duodecimo,  of  his  History  of  Rome ; 
but  first  to  write  a  work  for  which  there  was  a  more  immediate  de- 
mand. Davies  was  about  to  republish  Lord  Bolingbroke's  Dis- 
sertation on  Parties^  which  he  conceived  would  be  exceedingly 
applicable  to  the  affairs  of  the  day,  and  make  a  probable  Jut 
during  the  existing  state  of  violent  political  excitement ;  to  give 
it  still  greater  effect  and  currency  he  engaged  Goldsmith  to  intro- 
duce it  with  a  prefatory  life  of  Lord  Bolingbroke. 

About  this  time  Groldsmith's  friend  and  countryman.  Lord 
Clare,  was  in  great  affliction,  caused  by  the  death  of  his  only 
son.  Colonel  Nugent,  and  stood  in  need  of  the  sympathies  of 
a  kind-hearted  friend.  At  his  request,  therefore,  Groldsmith  paid 
him  a  visit  at  his  noble  seat  of  Grosford,  taking  his  tasks  with 
him.  Davies  was  in  a  worry  lest  Gosford  Park  should  prove  a 
Capua  to  the  poet,  and  the  time  be  lost.  "  Dr.  Goldsmith,"  writes 
he  to  a  friend,  "  has  gone  with  Lord  Clare  into  the  country, 

12 


266  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


and  I  am  plagued  to  get  the  proofs  from  him  of  the  Life  of  Lord 
Bolingbroke."  The  proofs,  however,  were  furnished  in  time  for 
the  publication  of  the  work  in  December.  The  Biography, 
though  written  during  a  time  of  political  turmoil,  and  introducing 
a  work  intended  to  be  thrown  into  the  arena  of  politics,  main- 
tained that  freedom  from  party  prejudice  observable  in  all  the 
writings  of  Goldsmith.  It  was  a  selection  of  facts,  drawn  from 
many  unreadable  sources,  and  arranged  into  a  clear,  flowing 
narrative,  illustrative  of  the  career  and  character  of  one,  who, 
as  he  intimates,  "seemed  formed  by  nature  to  take  delight  in 
struggling  with  opposition  ;  whose  most  agreeable  hours  were 
passed  in  storms  of  his  own  creating  ;  whose  life  was  spent  in 
a  continual  conflict  of  politics,  and  as  if  that  was  too  short  for 
the  combat,  has  left  his  memory  as  a  subject  of  lasting  conten- 
tion." The  sum  received  by  the  author  for  this  memoir,  is  sup- 
posed, from  circumstances,  to  have  been  forty  pounds. 

Goldsmith  did  not  find  the  residence  among  the  great  unat- 
tended with  mortifications.  He  had  now  become  accustomed  to 
be  regarded  in  London  as  a  literary  lion,  and  was  annoyed,  at 
what  he  considered  a  slight,  on  the  part  of  Lord  Camden.  He 
complained  of  it  on  his  return  to  town  at  a  party  of  his  friends. 
"I  met  him,"  said  he,  "at  Lord  Clare's  house  in  the  country; 
and  he  took  no  more  notice  of  me  than  if  I  had  been  an  ordinary 
man."  "  The  company,"  says  Boswell,  "  laughed  heartily  at  this 
piece  of  '  diverting  simplicity.'  "  And  foremost  among  the  laugh- 
ers was  doubtless  the  rattle-pated  Boswell.  Johnson,  however, 
stepped  forward,  as  usual,  to  defend  the  poet,  whom  he  would 
allow  no  one  to  assail  but  himself ;  perhaps  in  the  present  in- 
stance he  thought  the  dignity  of  literature  itself  involved  in  the 
question,     "  Nay,  gentlemen,]'  roared  he,  "  Dr.  Goldsmith  is  in 


THE  HAUNCH  OF  VENISON.  267 


the  right.  A  nobleman  ought  to  have  made  up  to  such  a  man 
as  Goldsmith,  and  I  think  it  is  much  against  Lord  Camden  that 
he  neglected  him." 

After  Goldsmith's  return  to  town  he  received  from  Lord 
Clare  a  present  of  game,  which  he  has  celebrated  and  perpetuated 
in  his  amusing  verses  entitled  the  "  Haunch  of  Venison."  Some 
of  the  lines  pleasantly  set  forth  the  embarrassment  caused  by 
the  appearance  of  such  an  aristocratic  delicacy  in  the  humble 
kitchen  of  a  poet,  accustomed  to  look  up  to  mutton  as  a  treat : 

"  Thanks,  my  lord,  for  your  venison  ;  for  finer  or  fatter 
Never  rang'd  in  a  forest,  or  smok'd  in  a  platter : 
The  haunch  was  a  picture  for  painters  to  study, 
The  fat  was  so  white,  and  the  lean  was  so  ruddy  ; 
Though  my  stomach  was  sharp,  I  could  scarce  help  regretting. 
To  spoil  such  a  delicate  picture  by  eating: 
I  had  thought  in  my  chambers  to  place  it  in  view, 
To  be  shown  to  my  friends  as  a  piece  of  virtu  ; 
As  in  some  Irish  houses  where  things  are  so-so. 
One  gammon  of  bacon  hangs  up  for  a  show  ; 
But,  for  eating  a  rasher,  of  what  they  take  pride  in. 
They'd  as  soon  think  of  eating  the  pan  it  was  fry'd  in. 
Jit  «  ))^  «  »  »  « 

But  hang  it — to  poets,  who  seldom  can  eat, 
Your  very  good  mutton's  a  very  good  treat ; 
Such  dainties  to  them,  their  health  it  might  hurt ; 
iVs  like  sending  them  ruffles,  when  wanting  a  shirt." 

We  have  an  amusing  anecdote  of  one  of  Goldsmith's  blun- 
ders which  took  place  on  a  subsequent  visit  to  Lord  Clare's,  when 
that  nobleman  was  residing  in  Bath. 

Lord  Clare  and   the  Duke  of  Northumberland  had  houses 


268  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


next  to  each  other,  of  similar  architecture.  Returning  home 
one  morning  from  an  early  walk,  Goldsmith,  in  one  of  his  fre- 
quent fits  of  absence,  mistook  the  house,  and  walked  up  into  the 
duke's  dining-room,  where  he  and  the  duchess  were  about  to  sit 
down  to  breakfast.  Goldsmith,  still  supposing  himself  in  the 
house  of  Lord  Clare,  and  that  they  were  visitors,  made  them  an 
easy  salutation,  being  acquainted  with  them,  and  threw  himself 
on  a  sofa  in  the  lounging  manner  of  a  man  perfectly  at  home. 
The  duke  and  duchess  soon  perceived  his  mistake,  and,  while 
they  smiled  internally,  endeavored,  with  the  considerateness  of 
well-bred  people,  to  prevent  any  awkward  embarrassment.  They 
accordingly  chatted  sociably  with  him  about  matters  in  Bath,  un- 
til, breakfast  being  served,  they  invited  him  to  partake.  The 
truth  at  once  flashed  upon  poor  heedless  Goldsmith ;  he  started 
up  from  his  free-and-easy  position,  made  a  confused  apology  for 
his  blunder,  and  would  have  retired  perfectly  disconcerted,  had 
not  the  duke  and  duchess  treated  the  whole  as  a  lucky  occur- 
rence to  throw  him  in  their  way,  and  exacted  a  promise  from  him 
to  dine  with  them. 

This  may  be  hung  up  as  a  companion-piece  to  his  blunder  on 
his  first  visit  to  Northumberland  House. 


DINNER  AT  THE  ROYAL  ACADEMY.  2G9 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Dinner  at  the  Royal  Academy. — The  Rowley  controversy. — Horace  Walpole'g 
conduct  to  Chatterton. — Johnson  at  RedclifFe  Church. — Goldsmith's  His- 
tory of  England. — Davies's  criticism. — Letter  to  Bennet  Langton. 

On  St.  George's  day  of  this  year  (1771),  the  first  animal  banquet 
of  the  Royal  Academy  was  held  in  the  exhibition  room ;  the 
walls  of  which  were  covered  with  works  of  art,  about  to  be  sub- 
mitted to  public  inspecJtion.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  who  first  sug- 
gested this  elegant  festival,  presided  in  his  ofl&cial  character  ;  Drs. 
Johnson  and  Goldsmith,  of  course,  were  present,  as  professors  of 
the  academy  ;  and,  beside  the  academicians,  there  was  a  large 
number  of  the  most  distinguished  men  of  the  day  as  guests. 
Goldsmith  on  this  occasion  drew  on  himself  the  attention  of  the 
company  by  launching  out  with  enthusiasm  on  the  poems  recently 
given  to  the  world  by  Chatterton,  as  the  works  of  an  ancient 
author  by  the  name  of  Rowley,  discovered  in  the  tower  of  Red- 
cliffe  Church,  at  Bristol.  Goldsmith  spoke  of  them  with  rap- 
ture, as  a  treasure  of  old  English  poetry.  This  immediately 
raised  the  question  of  their  authenticity;  they  having  been 
pronounced  a  forgery  of  Chatterton's.  Goldsmith  was  warm 
for  their  being  genuine.  When  he  considered,  he  said,  the  merit 
of  the  poetry ;  the  acquaintance  with  life  and  the  human  heart 


270  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


displayed  in  them,  the  antique  quaintness  of  the  language  and 
the  familiar  knowledge  of  historical  events  of  their  supposed 
day,  he  could  not  believe  it  possible  they  could  be  the  work  of  a 
boy  of  sixteen,  of  narrow  education,  and  confined  to  the  duties 
of  an  attorney's  office.     They  must  be  the  productions  of  Rowley. 

Johnson,  who  was  a  stout  unbeliever  in  Kowley,  as  he  had 
been  in  Ossian,  rolled  in  his  chair  and  laughed  at  the  enthusi- 
asm of  Groldsmith.  Horace  Walpole,  who  sat  near  by,  joined  in 
the  laugh  and  jeer  as  soon  as  he  found  that  the  "  trouvaille^^'  as 
he  called  it,  "  of  his  friend  Chatterton  "  was  in  question.  This 
matter,  which  had  excited  the  simple  admiration  of  Goldsmith, 
was  no  novelty  to  him,  he  said.  "  He  might,  had  he  pleased, 
have  had  the  honor  of  ushering  the  great  discovery  to  the 
learned  world."  And  so  he  might,  had  he  followed  his  first 
impulse  in  the  matter,  for  he  himself  had  been  an  original 
believer ;  had  pronounced  some  specimen  verses  sent  to  him  by 
Chatterton  wonderful  for  their  harmony  and  spirit ;  and  had 
been  ready  to  print  them  and  publish  them  to  the  world  with  his 
sanction.  When  he  found,  however,  that  his  unknown  corre- 
spondent was  a  mere  boy,  humble  in  sphere  and  indigent  in 
circumstances,  and  when  Gray  and  Mason  pronounced  the  poems 
forgeries,  he  had  changed  his  whole  conduct  towards  the  unfor- 
tunate author,  and  by  his  neglect  and  coldness  had  dashed  all 
his  sanguine  hopes  to  the  ground. 

Exulting  in  his  superior  discernment,  this  cold-hearted  man 
of  society  now  went  on  to  divert  himself,  as  he  says,  with  the 
credulity  of  Goldsmith,  whom  he  was  accustomed  to  pronounce 
"  an  inspired  idiot ;"  but  his  mirth  was  soon  dashed,  for  on 
asking  the  poet  what  had  become  of  this  Chatterton,  he  was 
answered,  doubtless  in  the  feeling  tone  of  one  who  had  experi- 


CHATTERTON.  271 


enced  tbe  pangs  of  despondent  genius,  that  "he  had  been  to 
London,  and  had  destroyed  himself." 

The  reply  struck  a  pang  of  self-reproach  even  to  the  cold 
heart  of  Walpole ;  a  faint  blush  may  have  visited  his  cheek  at 
his  recent  levity.  "  The  persons  of  honor  and  veracity  who  were 
present,"  said  he  in  after  years,  when  he  found  it  necessary  to 
exculpate  himself  from  the  charge  of  heartless  neglect  of  genius, 
"  will  attest  with  what  surprise  and  concern  I  thus  first  heard  of 
his  death."  Well  might  he  feel  concern.  His  cold  neglect  had 
doubtless  contributed  to  madden  the  spirit  of  that  youthful 
genius,  and  hurry  him  towards  his  untimely  end ;  nor  have  all 
the  excuses  and  palliations  of  Walpole's  friends  and  admirers 
been  ever  able  entirely  to  clear  this  stigma  from  his  fame. 

But  what  was  there  in  the  enthusiasm  and  credulity  of 
honest  Goldsmith  in  this  matter,  to  subject  him  to  the  laugh  of 
Johnson  or  the  raillery  of  Walpole  ?  G-ranting  the  poems  were 
not  ancient,  were  they  not  good  ?  Granting  they  were  not  the 
productions  of  Rowley,  were  they  the  less  admirable  for  being 
the  productions  of  Chatterton?  Johnson  himself  testified  to 
their  merits  and  the  genius  of  their  composer,  when,  some  years 
afterwards,  he  visited  the  tower  of  Redcliffe  Church,  and  was 
shown  the  coffer  in  which  poor  Chatterton  had  pretended  to  find 
them.  "  This,"  said  he,  "  is  the  most  extraordinary  young  man 
that  has  encountered  my  knowledge.  It  is  wonderful  hmv  the 
whelp  has  written  such  things^ 

As  to  Goldsmith,  he  persisted  in  his  credulity,  and  had  sub- 
sequently a  dispute  with  Dr.  Percy  on  the  subject,  which  inter- 
rupted and  almost  destroyed  their  friendship.  After  all,  his 
enthusiasm  was  of  a  generous,  poetic  kind ;  the  poems  remain 
beautiful  monuments  of  genius,  and  it  is  even  now  difficult  to 


272  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


persuade  one's  self  that  they  could  be  entirely  the  productions 
of  a  youth  of  sixteen. 

In  the  month  of  August,  was  published  anonymously  the 
History  of  England,  on  which  Goldsmith  had  been  for  some  time 
employed.  It  was  in  four  volumes,  compiled  chiefly,  as  he 
acknowledged  in  the  preface,  from  Rapin,  Carle,  Smollett,  and 
Hume,  "  each  of  whom,"  says  he,  "  have  their  admirers,  in  pro- 
portion as  the  reader  is  studious  of  political  antiquities,  fond  of 
minute  anecdote,  a  warm  partisan,  or  a  deliberate  reasoner."  It 
possessed  the  same  kind  of  merit  as  his  other  historical  compila- 
tions ;  a  clear,  succinct  narrative,  a  simple,  easy,  and  graceful 
style,  and  an  agreeable  arrangement  of  facts  ;  but  was  not 
remarkable  for  either  depth  of  observation  or  minute  accuracy 
of  research.  Many  passages  were  transferred,  with  little  if  any 
alteration,  from  his  "  Letters  from  a  Nobleman  to  his  Son "  on 
the  same  subject.  The  work,  though  written  without  party 
feeling,  met  with  sharp  animadversions  from  political  scribblers. 
The  writer  was  charged  with  being  unfriendly  to  liberty,  dis- 
posed to  elevate  monarchy  above  its  proper  sphere ;  a  tool  of 
ministers  ;  one  who  would  betray  his  country  for  a  pension. 
Tom  Davies,  the  publisher,  the  pompous  little  bibliopole  of 
Russell-street,  alarmed  lest  the  book  should  prove  unsaleable, 
undertook  to  protect  it  by  his  pen,  and  wrote  a  long  article  in 
its  defence  in  "  The  Public  Advertiser."  He  was  vain  of  his 
critical  effusion,  and  sought  by  nods  and  winks  and  inuendoes  to 
intimate  his  authorship.  "  Have  you  seen,"  said  he  in  a  letter 
to  a  friend,  "  '  An  Impartial  Account  of  Goldsmith's  History  of 
England  V  If  you  want  to  know  who  was  the  writer  of  it,  you 
will  find  him  in  Russell-street ; — but  mum  /" 

The  history,  on  the  whole,  however,  was  well  received ;  some 


LETTER  TO  LANGTON.  ttk 


of  the  critics  declared  that  English  history  had  never  before  been 
so  usefully,  so  elegantly,  and  agreeably  epitomized,  "  and,  like  his 
other  historical  writings,  it  has  kept  its  ground"  in  English  lite- 
rature. 

Goldsmith  had  intended  this  summer,  in  company  with  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  to  pay  a  visit  to  Bennet  Langton,  at  his  seat 
in  Lincolnshire,  where  he  was  settled  in  domestic  life,  having 
the  year  previously  married  the  Countess  Dowager  of  Rothes, 
The  following  letter,  however,  dated  from  his  chambers  in  the 
Temple,  on  the  7th  of  September,  apologizes  for  putting  off  the 
visit,  while  it  gives  an  amusing  account  of  his  summer  occupa- 
tions and  of  the  attacks  of  the  critics  on  his  History  of  England  : 

"  My  dear  Sir, 

"  Since  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  last,  I  have 
been  almost  wholly  in  the  country,  at  a  farmer's  house,  quite 
alone,  trying  to  write  a  comedy.  It  is  now  finished ;  but 
when  or  how  it  will  be  acted,  or  whether  it  will  be  acted  at  all, 
are  questions  I  cannot  resolve.  I  am  therefore  so  much  em- 
ployed upon  that,  that  I  am  under  the  necessity  of  putting  off 
my  intended  visit  to  Lincolnshire  for  this  season.  Reynolds  is 
just  returned  from  Paris,  and  finds  himself  now  in  the  case  of  a 
truant  that  must  make  up  for  his  idle  time  by  diligence.  We 
have  therefore  agreed  to  postpone  our  journey  till  next  summer, 
when  we  hope  to  have  the  honor  of  waiting  upon  Lady  Rothes 
and  you,  and  staying  double  the  time  of  our  late  intended  visit. 
We  often  meet,  and  never  without  remembering  you.  I  see  Mr. 
Beauclerc  very  often  both  in  town  and  countr3^  He  is  now  going 
directly  forward  to  become  a  second  Boyle :  deep  in  chemistry 
and  physics.     Johnson  has  been   down  on  a  visit  to  a  country 

12* 


274  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


parson,  Doctor  Taylor ;  and  is  returned  to  his  old  haunts  at  Mrs. 
Thrale's.  Burke  is  a  farmer,  en  attendant  a  better  place ;  but 
visiting  about  too.  Every  soul  is  visiting  about  and  merry  but 
myself.  And  that  is  hard  too,  as  I  have  been  trying  these  three 
months  to  do  something  to  make  people  laugh.  There  have  I 
been  strolling  about  the  hedges,  studying  jests  with  a  most  tra- 
gical countenance.  The  Natural  History  is  about  half  finished, 
and  I  will  shortly  finish  the  rest.  God  knows  I  am  tired  of  this 
kind  of  finishing,  which  is  but  bungling  work ;  and  that  not  so 
much  my  fault  as  the  fault  of  my  scurvy  circumstances.  They 
begin  to  talk  in  town  of  the  Opposition's  gaining  ground ;  the  cry 
of  liberty  is  still  as  loud  as  ever.  I  have  published,  or  Davies 
has  published  for  me,  an  Abridgment  of  the  History  of  Englaiid^ 
for  which  I  have  been  a  good  deal  abused  in  the  newspapers,  for 
betraying  the  liberties  of  the  people.  God  knows  I  had  no 
thought  for  or  against  liberty  in  my  head ;  my  whole  aim  being 
to  make  up  a  book  of  a  decent  size,  that,  as  'Squire  Richard  says, 
would  do  no  harm  to  Twbody.  However,  they  set  me  down  as  an 
arrant  Tory,  and  consequently  an  honest  man.  When  you  come 
to  look  at  any  part  of  it,  you'll  say  that  I  am  a  sore  Whig.  God 
bless  you,  and  with  my  most  respectful  compliments  to  her  Lady- 
ship, I  remain,  dear  Sir,  your  most  afi"ectionate  humble  servant, 

"  Oliver  Goldsmith." 


MARRIAGE  OF  LITTLE  COMEDY;  27; 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Marriage  of  Little   Comedy. — Goldsmith  at  Barton. — Practical  jokes  at  the 
expense  of  his  toilet. — Amusements   at   Barton. — Aquatic   misadventure. 

Though  Groldsmith  found  it  impossible  to  break  from  his  literary 
occupations  to  visit  Bennet  Langton,  in  Lincolnshire,  he  soon 
yielded  to  attractions  from  another  quarter,  in  which  somewhat 
of  sentiment  may  have  mingled.  Miss  Catherine  Horneck,  one 
of  his  beautiful  fellow-travellers,  otherwise  called  Little  Comedy^ 
had  been  married  in  August  to  Henry  William  Bunbury,  Esq., 
a  gentleman  of  fortune,  who  has  become  celebrated  for  the  humor- 
ous productions  of  his  pencil.  Goldsmith  was  shortly  afterwards 
invited  to  pay  the  newly  married  couple  a  visit  at  their  seat,  at 
Barton,  in  Suffolk.  How  could  he  resist  such  an  invitation — 
especially  as  the  Jessamy  Bride  would,  of  course,  be  among  the 
guests  ?  It  is  true,  he  was  hampered  with  work ;  he  was  still 
more  hampered  with  debt ;  his  accounts  with  Newbery  were  per- 
plexed ;  but  all  must  give  way.  New  advances  are  procured 
from  Newbery,  on  the  promise  of  a  new  tale  in  the  style  of  the 
Vicar  of  Wakefield,  of  which  he  showed  him  a  few  roughly- 
sketched  chapters ;  so,  his  purse  replenished  in  the  old  way,  "  by 
hook  or  by  crook,"  he  posted  off  to  visit  the  bride  at  Barton.  He 
found  there  a  joyous  household,  and  one  where  he  was  welcomed 
with  affection.     Garrick  was  there,  and  played  the  part  of  mas- 


276  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


ter  of  the  revels,  for  he  was  an  intimate  friend  of  the  master 
of  the  house.  Notwithstanding  early  misunderstandings,  a 
social  intercourse  between  the  actor  and  the  poet  had  grown  up 
of  late,  from  meeting  together  continually  in  the  same  circle.  A 
few  particulars  have  reached  us  concerning  Goldsmith  while  on  this 
happy  visit.  We  believe  the  legend  has  come  down  from  Miss 
Mary  Horneck  herself  "  While  at  Barton,"  she  says,  "  his  man- 
ners were  always  playful  and  amusing,  taking  the  lead  in  promoting 
any  scheme  of  innocent  mirth,  and  usually  prefacing  the  invita- 
tion with  '  Come,  now,  let  us  play  the  fool  a  little.'  At  cards, 
which  was  commonly  a  round  game,  and  the  stake  small,  he  was 
always  the  most  noisy,  aiFected  great  eagerness  to  win,  and  teased 
his  opponents  of  the  gentler  sex  with  continual  jest  and  banter 
on  their  want  of  spirit  in  not  risking  the  hazards  of  the  game. 
But  one  of  his  most  favorite  enjoyments  was  to  romp  with  the 
children,  when  he  threw  off  all  reserve,  and  seemed  one  of  the 
most  joyous  of  the  group. 

"  One  of  the  means  by  which  he  amused  us  was  his  songs, 
chiefly  of  the  comic  kind,  which  were  sung  with  some  taste  and 
humor ;  several,  I  believe,  were  of  his  own  composition,  and  I  re- 
gret that  I  neither  have  copies,  which  might  have  been  readily 
procured  from  him  at  the  time,  nor  do  I  remember  their  names." 

His  perfect  good  humor  made  him  the  object  of  tricks  of  all 
kinds  ;  often  in  retaliation  of  some  prank  which  he  himself  had 
playe  1  off.  Unluckily,  these  tricks  were  sometimes  made  at  the 
expense  of  his  toilet,  which,  with  a  view  peradventure  to  please  the 
eye  of  a  certain  fair  lady,  he  had  again  enriched  to  the  impoverish- 
ment of  his  purse.  "  Being  at  all  times  gay  in  his  dress,"  sa^^s 
this  ladylike  legend,  "he  made  his  appearance  at  the  breakfast- 
table  in  a  smart  black  silk  coat  with  an  expensive  pair  of  ruffles  ; 


AQUATIC  MISADVENTURE.  277 


the  coat  some  one  contrived  to  soil,  and  it  was  sent  to  be 
cleansed  ;  but,  either  by  accident,  or  probably  by  design,  the 
day  after  it  came  home,  the  sleeves  became  daubed  with  paint, 
which  was  not  discovered  until  the  ruffles  also,  to  his  great  mor- 
tification, were  irretrievably  disfigured. 

"  He  always  wore  a  wig,  a  peculiarity  which  those  who  judge 
of  his  appearance  only  from  the  fine  poetical  head  of  Reynolds 
would  not  suspect ;  and  on  one  occasion  some  person  contrived 
seriously  to  injure  this  important  adjunct  to  dress.  It  was  the 
only  one  he  had  in  the  country,  and  the  misfortune  seemed  irre- 
parable until  the  services  of  Mr.  Bunbury's  valet  were  called  in, 
who,  however,  performed  his  functions  so  indifierently,  that  poor 
Goldsmith's  appearance  became  the  signal  for  a  general  smile." 

This  was  wicked  waggery,  especially  when  it  was  directed  to 
mar  all  the  attempts  of  the  unfortunate  poet  to  improve  his 
personal  appearance,  about  which  he  was  at  all  times  dubiously 
sensitive,  and  particularly  when  among  the  ladies. 

We  have  in  a  former  chapter  recorded  his  unlucky  tumble 
into  a  fountain  at  Versailles,  when  attempting  a  feat  of  agility 
in  presence  of  the  fair  Hornecks.  Water  was  destined  to  be 
equally  baneful  to  him  on  the  present  occasion.  "  Some  difi'erence 
of  opinion,"  says  the  fair  narrator,  "  having  arisen  with  Lord 
Harrington  respecting  the  depth  of  a  pond,  the  poet  remarked 
that  it  was  not  so  deep  but  that,  if  any  thing  valuable  was  to  be 
found  at  the  bottom,  he  would  not  hesitate  to  pick  it  up.  His 
lordship,  after  some  banter,  threw  in  a  guinea ;  Groldsmith,  not 
to  be  outdone  in  this  kind  of  bravado,  in  attempting  to  fulfil  his 
promise  without  getting  wet,  accidentally  fell  in,  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  all  present,  but  persevered,  brought  out  the  money,  and 


278  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

kept  it,  remarking  that  he  had  abundant  objects  on  whom  to 
bestow  any  farther  proofs  of  his  lordship's  whim  or  bounty." 

All  this  is  recorded  by  the  beautiful  Mary  Horneck,  the 
Jessamy  Bride  herself;  but  while  she  gives  these  amusing  pic- 
tures of  poor  Goldsmith's  eccentricities,  and  of  the  mischievous 
pranks  played  off  upon  him,  she  bears  unqualified  testimony, 
which  we  have  quoted  elsewhere,  to  the  qualities  of  his  head  and 
heart,  which  shone  forth  in  his  countenance,  and  gained  him 
the  love  all  who  knew  him. 

Among  the  circumstances  of  this  visit  vaguely  called  to  mind 
by  this  fair  lady  in  after  years,  was  that  Goldsmith  read  to  her 
and  her  sister  the  first  part  of  a  novel  which  he  had  in  hand.  It 
was  doubtless  the  manuscript  mentioned  at  the  beginning  of  this 
chapter,  on  which  he  had  obtained  an  advance  of  money  from 
Newbery  to  stave  off  some  pressing  debts,  and  to  provide  funds 
for  this  very  visit.  It  never  was  finished.  The  bookseller,  when 
he  came  afterwards  to  examine  the  manuscript,  objected  to  it  as 
a  mere  narrative  version  of  the  Good-Natured  Man.  Goldsmith, 
too  easily  put  out  of  conceit  of  his  writings,  threw  it  aside,  for- 
getting that  this  was  the  very  Newbery  who  kept  his  Vicar  of 
Wakefield  by  him  nearly  two  years  through  doubts  of  its  success. 
The  loss  of  the  manuscript  is  deeply  to  be  regretted ;  it  doubt- 
less would  have  been  properly  wrought  up  before  given  to  the 
press,  and  might  have  given  us  new  scenes  in  life  and  traits  of 
character,  while  it  could  not  fail  to  bear  traces  of  his  delightful 
style.  What  a  pity  he  had  not  been  guided  by  the  opinions  of  his 
fair  listeners  at  Barton,  instead  of  that  of  the  astute  Mr.  Newbery  ! 


DINNER  AT  OGLETHORPE'S.  2791 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Dinner  at   General  Oglethorpe's. — Anecdotes  of  the  general  — Dispute  about 
duelling. — Ghost  stories. 

We  have  mentioned  old  General  Oglethorpe  as  one  of  Gold- 
smith's aristocratical  acquaintances.  This  veteran,  born  in  1698, 
had  commenced  life  early,  by  serving,  when  a  mere  stripling,  un- 
der Prince  Eugene,  against  the  Turks.  He  had  continued  in 
military  life,  and  been  promoted  to  the  rank  of  major-general  in 
1745,  and  received  a  command  during  the  Scottish  rebellion. 
Being  of  strong  Jacobite  tendencies,  he  was  suspected  and 
accused  of  favoring  the  rebels  ;  and  though  acquitted  by  a  court 
of  inquiry,  was  never  afterwards  employed ;  or,  in  technical  lan- 
guage, was  shelved.  He  had  since  been  repeatedly  a  member  of 
parliament,  and  had  always  distinguished  himself  by  learning, 
taste,  active  benevolence,  and  high  Tory  principles.  His  name, 
however,  has  become  historical,  chiefly  from  his  transactions  in 
America,  and  the  share  he  took  in  the  settlement  of  the  colony 
of  Georgia.  It  lies  embalmed  in  honorable  immortality  in  a  sin- 
gle line  of  Pope's : 

"  One,  driven  by  strong  benevolence  of  soul, 
Shall  fly,  like  Oglethorpe,  from  pole  to  pole." 

The  veteran  was  now  seventy-four  years  of  age,  but  healthy 


280  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


and  vigorous,  and  as  much  the  preux  chevalier  as  in  his  younger 
days,  when  he  served  with  Prince  Eugene.  His  table  was  often 
the  gathering-place  of  men  of  talent.  Johnson  was  frequently 
there,  and  delighted  in  drawing  from  the  general  details  of  his 
various  "experiences."  He  was  anxious  that  he  should  give  the 
world  his  life.  "  I  know  no  man,"  said  he,  "  whose  life  would  be 
more  interesting."  Still  the  vivacity  of  the  general's  mind  and 
the  variety  of  his  knowledge  made  him  skip  from  subject  to  sub- 
ject too  fast  for  the  Lexicographer.  "  Oglethorpe,"  growled  he, 
"  never  completes  what  he  has  to  say." 

Boswell  gives  us  an  interesting  and  characteristic  account  of 
a  dinner  party  at  the  general's,  (April  10th,  1722,)  at  which 
Goldsmith  and  Johnson  were  present.  After  dinner,  when  the 
cloth  was  removed,  Oglethorpe,  at  Johnson's  request,  gave  an 
account  of  the  siege  of  Belgrade,  in  the  true  veteran  style. 
Pouring  a  little  wine  upon  the  table,  he  drew  his  lines  and  paral- 
lels with  a  wet  finger,  describing  the  positions  of  the  opposing 
forces.  "  Here  were  we — here  were  the  Turks,"  to  all  which 
Johnson  listened  with  the  most  earnest  attention,  poring  over 
the  plans  and  diagrams  with  his  usual  purblind  closeness. 

In  the  course  of  conversation  the  general  gave  an  anecdote  of 
himself  in  early  life,  when  serving  under  Prince  Eugene.  Sit- 
ting at  table  once  in  company  with  a  prince  of  Wurteraberg,  the 
latter  gave  a  fillip  to  a  glass  of  wine,  so  as  to  make  some  of  it 
fly  in  Oglethorpe's  face.  The  manner  in  which  it  was  done  was 
somewhat  equivocal.  How  was  it  to  be  taken  by  the  stripling 
officer  ?  If  seriously,  he  must  chailenge  the  prince ;  but  in  so 
doing  he  might  fix  on  himself  the  character  of  a  drawcansir. 
If  passed  over  without  notice,  he  might  be  charged  with  coward- 
ice.    His  mind  was  made  up  in  an  instant.     "  Prince,"  said  he. 


DISPUTE  ABOUT  DUELLING.  281 


smiling,  "  that  is  an  excellent  joke  ;  but  we  do  it  much  better  in 
England."  So  saying,  he  threw  a  whole  glass  of  wine  in  the 
prince's  face.  "  II  a  bien  fait,  mon  prince,"  cried  an  old  general 
present,  "vous  I'avez  commence."  (He  has  done  right,  my 
prince;  you  commenced  it.)  The  prince  had  the  good  sense  to 
acquiesce  in  the  decision  of  the  veteran,  and  Oglethorpe's  retort 
in  kind  was  taken  in  good  part. 

It  was  probably  at  the  close  of  this  story  that  the  officious 
Boswell,  ever  anxious  to  promote  conversation  for  the  benefit  of 
his  note-book,  started  the  question  whether  duelling  were  consist- 
ent with  moral  duty.  The  old  general  fired  up  in  an  instant. 
"  Undoubtedly,"  said  he,  with  a  lofty  air ;  "  undoubtedly  a  man 
has  a  right  to  defend  his  honor."  Goldsmith  immediately  car- 
ried the  war  into  Boswell's  own  quarters,  and  pinned  him  with 
the  question,  "  what  he  would  do  if  afi"ronted  ?"  The  pliant 
Boswell,  who  for  the  moment  had  the  fear  of  the  general  rather 
than  of  Johnson  before  his  eyes,  replied,  "  he  should  think  it 
necessary  to  fight."  "  Why,  then,  that  solves  the  question,"  re- 
plied Goldsmith.  "No,  sir!"  thundered  out  Johnson ;  "it  does 
not  follow  that  what  a  man  would  do,  is  therefore  right."  He, 
however,  subsequently  went  into  a  discussion  to  show  that  there 
were  necessities  in  the  case  arising  out  of  the  artificial  refinement 
of  society,  and  its  proscription  of  any  one  who  should  put  up  with 
an  afi"ront  without  fighting  a  duel.  "  He  then,"  concluded  he, 
"  who  fights  a  duel  does  not  fight  from  passion  against  his  anta- 
gonist, but  out  of  self-defence,  to  avert  the  stigma  of  the  world, 
and  to  prevent  himself  from  being  driven  out  of  society.  I 
could  wish  there  were  not  that  superfluity  of  refinement ;  but 
while  such  notions  prevail,  no  doubt  a  man  may  lawfully  fight  a 
duel." 


583  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


Another  question  started  was,  whether  people  who  disagreed 
on  a  capital  point  could  live  together  in  friendship.  Johnson 
said  they  might.  Goldsmith  said  they  could  not,  as  they  had  not 
the  idem  velle  atque  idem  voile — the  same  likings  and  aversions. 
Johnson  rejoined,  that  they  must  shun  the  subject  on  which  they 
disagreed.  "  But,  sir,"  said  Groldsmith,  "  when  people  live  toge- 
ther who  have  something  as  to  which  they  disagree,  and  which 
they  want  to  shun,  they  will  be  in  the  situation  mentioned  in  the 
story  of  Blue  Beard :  '  you  may  look  into  all  the  chambers 
but  one ;'  but  we  should  have  the  greatest  inclination  to  look  into 
that  chamber,  to  talk  of  that  subject."  "  Sir,"  thundered  John- 
son, in  a  loud  voice,  "  I  am  not  saying  that  you  could  live  in 
friendship  with  a  man  from  whom  you  differ  as  to  some  point ;  I 
am  only  saying  that  /could  do  it." 

Who  will  not  say  that  Goldsmith  had  not  the  best  of  this 
petty  contest  ?  How  just  was  his  remark !  how  felicitous  the 
illustration  of  the  blue  chamber  !  how  rude  and  overbearing  was 
the  argumentum  ad  hominem  of  Johnson,  when  he  felt  that  he  had 
the  worst  of  the  argument! 

The  conversation  turned  upon  ghosts.  General  Oglethorpe 
told  the  story  of  a  Colonel  Prendergast,  an  officer  in  the  Duke  of 
Marlborough's  army,  who  predicted  among  his  comrades  that  he 
should  die  on  a  certain  day.  The  battle  of  Malplaquet  took  place 
on  that  day.  The  colonel  was  in  the  midst  of  it,  but  came  out 
unhurt.  The  firing  had  ceased,  and  his  brother  officers  jested 
with  him  about  the  fallacy  of  his  prediction.  "  The  day  is  not 
over,"  replied  he,  gravely ;  "  I  shall  die  notwithstanding  what 
you  see."  His  words  proved  true.  The  order  for  a  cessation  of 
firing  had  not  reached  one  of  the  French  batteries,  and  a  random 
shot  from  it  killed  the  colonel  on  the  spot.     Among  his  effects 


GHOST  STORIES.  283 


was  found  a  pocket-book  in  which  he  had  made  a  solemn  entry, 
that  Sir  John  Friend,  who  had  been  executed  for  high  treason, 
had  appeared  to  him,  either  in  a  dream  or  vision,  and  predicted 
that  he  would  meet  him  on  a  certain  day  (the  very  day  of  the 
battle).  Colonel  Cecil,  who  took  possession  of  the  effects  of  Colonel 
Pendergast,  and  read  the  entry  in  the  pocket-book,  told  this 
story  to  Pope,  the  poet,  in  the  presence  of  General  Oglethorpe. 

This  story,  as  related  by  the  general,  appears  to  have  been 
well  received,  if  not  credited,  by  both  Johnson  and  Goldsmith, 
each  of  whom  had  something  to  relate  in  kind.  Goldsmith's  bro- 
ther, the  clergyman  in  whom  he  had  such  implicit  confidence, 
had  assured  him  of  his  having  seen  an  apparition.  Johnson  also 
had  a  friend,  old  Mr.  Cave,  the  printer,  at  St.  John's  Gate,  "  an 
honest  man,  and  a  sensible  man,"  who  told  him  he  had  seen  a 
ghost :  he  did  not,  however,  like  to  talk  of  it,  and  seemed  to  be  in 
great  horror  whenever  it  was  mentioned.  '•  And  pray,  sir,"  asked 
Boswell,  "  what  did  he  say  was  the  appearance  ?"  "  Why,  sir, 
something  of  a  shadowy  being." 

The  reader  will  not  be  surprised  at  this  superstitious  turn  in 
the  conversation  of  such  intelligent  men,  when  he  recollects  that, 
but  a  few  years  before  this  time,  all  London  had  been  agitated 
by  the  absurd  story  of  the  Cock-lane  ghost ;  a  matter  which  Dr. 
Johnson  had  deemed  worthy  of  his  serious  investigation,  and 
about  which  Goldsmith  had  written  a  pamphlet. 


SM  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Mr.  Joseph  Cradock. — An  author's  confidings. —  An  amanuensis. —  Life  at 
Edgeware. — Goldsmith  conjuring. — George  Colman. — The  Fantoccini. 

Among  the  agreeable  acquaintances  made  by  Goldsmith  about 
this  time  was  a  Mr.  Joseph  Cradock,  a  young  gentleman  of  Lei- 
cestershire, living  at  his  ease,  but  disposed  to  "  make  himself 
uneasy,"  by  meddling  with  literature  and  the  theatre ;  in  fact,  he 
had  a  passion  for  plays  and  players,  and  had  come  up  to  town 
with  a  modified  translation  of  Yoltaire's  tragedy  of  Zobeide,  in  a 
view  to  get  it  acted.  There  was  no  great  difficulty  in  the  case, 
as  he  was  a  man  of  fortune,  had  letters  of  introduction  to  persons 
of  note,  and  was  altogether  in  a  diflferent  position  from  the  indi- 
gent man  of  genius  whom  managers  might  harass  with  impunity. 
Goldsmith  met  him  at  the  house  of  Yates,  the  actor,  and  finding 
that  he  was  a  friend  of  Lord  Clare,  soon  became  sociable  with  him. 
Mutual  tastes  quickened  the  intimacy,  especially  as  they  found 
means  of  serving  each  other.  Goldsmith  wrote  an  epilogue  for 
the  tragedy  of  Zobeide  ;  and  Cradock,  who  was  an  amateur  musi- 
cian, arranged  the  music  for  the  Threnodia  Augustalis,  a  lament 
on  the  death  of  the  Princess  Dowager  of  Wales,  the  political 
mistress  and  patron  of  Lord  Clare,  wliich  Goldsmith  had  thrown 
off  hastily  to  please  that  nobleman.     The   tragedy  was  played 


AN  AUTHOR'S  CONFIDINGS.  285 


with  some  success  at  Covent-Garden ;  the  Lament  was  recited 
and  sung  at  Mrs.  Cornelys'  rooms — a  very  fashionable  resort  in 
Soho  Square,  got  up  by  a  woman  of  enterprise  of  that  name.  It 
was  in  whimsical  parody  of  those  gay  and  somewhat  promiscuous 
assemblages  that  Goldsmith  used  to  call  the  motley  evening  par- 
ties at  his  lodgings  "  little  Cornelys." 

The  Threnodia  Augustales  was  not  publicly  known  to  be  by 
Goldsmith  until  several  years  after  his  death. 

Cradock  was  one  of  the  few  polite  intimates  who  felt  more 
disposed  to  sympathize  with  the  generous  qualities  of  the  poet 
than  to  sport  with  his  eccentricities.  He  sought  his  society 
whenever  he  came  to  town,  and  occasionally  had  him  to  his  seat 
in  the  country.  Goldsmith  appreciated  his  sympathy,  and  un- 
burthened  himself  to  him  without  reserve.  Seeing  the  lettered 
ease  in  which  this  amateur  author  was  enabled  to  live,  and  the 
time  he  could  bestow  on  the  elaboration  of  a  manuscript,  *•  Ah  ! 
Mr.  Cradock,"  cried  he,  "  think  of  me,  that  must  write  a  volume 
every  month  !"  He  complained  to  him  of  the  attempts  made  by 
inferior  writers,  and  by  others  who  could  scarcely  come  under 
that  denomination,  not  only  to  abuse  and  depreciate  his  writings, 
but  to  render  him  ridiculous  as  a  man ;  perverting  every  harm- 
less sentiment  and  action  into  charges  of  absurdity,  malice,  or 
folly.  "  Sir,"  said  he,  in  the  fulness  of  his  heart,  '•  I  am  as  a  lion 
baited  by  curs  ! " 

Another  acquaintance,  which  he  made  about  this  time,  was  a 
young  countryman  of  the  name  of  M'Donnell,  whom  he  met  in  a 
state  of  destitution,  and,  of  course,  befriended.  The  following 
grateful  recollections  of  his  kindness  and  his  merits  were  fur- 
nished by  that  person  in  after  years : 

"It  was  in  the  year  1772,"  writes  he,  "  that  the  death  of  my 


286  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


elder  brother — when  in  London,  on  my  way  to  Ireland — left  me 
in  a  most  forlorn  situation  ;  I  was  then  about  eighteen ;  I  pos- 
sessed neither  friends  nor  money,  nor  the  means  of  getting  to 
Ireland,  of  which  or  of  England  I  knew  scarcely  any  thing,  from 
having  so  long  resided  in  France.  In  this  situation  I  had  strolled 
about  for  two  or  three  days,  considering  what  to  do,  but  unable 
to  come  to  any  determination,  when  Providence  directed  me  to 
the  Temple  Gardens.  I  threw  myself  on  a  seat,  and,  willing  to 
forget  my  miseries  for  a  moment,  drew  out  a  book  ;  that  book  was 
a  volume  of  Boileau.  I  had  not  been  there  long  when  a  gentle- 
man, strolling  about,  passed  near  me,  and  observing,  perhaps, 
something  Irish  or  foreign  in  my  garb  or  countenance,  addressed 
me :  '  Sir,  you  seem  studious ;  I  hope  you  find  this  a  favorable 
place  to  pursue  it.'  '  Not  very  studious,  sir ;  I  fear  it  is  the  want 
of  society  that  brings  me  hither ;  I  am  solitary  and  unknown  in 
this  metropolis  ;'  and  a  passage  from  Cicero — Oratio  pro  Archia — 
occurring  to  me,  I  quoted  it ;  '  Haec  studia  pronoctant  nobiscum, 
perigrinantur,  rusticantur.'  '  You  are  a  scholar,  too,  sir,  I  per- 
ceive.' '  A  piece  of  one,  sir ;  but  I  ought  still  to  have  been  in 
the  college  where  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  pick  up  the  little  I 
know.'  A  good  deal  of  conversation  ensued ;  I  told  him  part  of 
my  history,  and  he,  in  return,  gave  his  address  in  the  Temple, 
desiring  me  to  call  soon,  from  which,  to  my  infinite  surprise  and 
gratification,  I  found  that  the  person  who  thus  seemed  to  take  an 
interest  in  my  fate  was  my  countryman,  and  a  distinguished 
ornament  of  letters. 

"  I  did  not  fail  to  keep  the  appointment,  and  was  received  in 
the  kindest  manner.  He  told  me,  smilingly,  that  he  was  not  rich; 
that  he  could  do  little  for  me  in  direct  pecuniary  aid,  but  would 
endeavor  to  put  me  in  the  way  of  doing  something  for  myself; 


AN   AMANUENSIS.  28T 


observing,  that  he  could  at  least  furnish  me  with  advice  not 
wholly  useless  to  a  young  man  placed  in  the  heart  of  a  great  me- 
tropolis. '  In  London,'  he  continued,  '  nothing  is  to  be  got  for 
nothing :  you  must  work ;  and  no  man  who  chooses  to  be  indus- 
trious need  be  under  obligations  to  another,  for  here  labor  of 
every  kind  commands  its  reward.  If  you  think  proper  to  assist 
me  occasionally  as  amanuensis,  I  shall  be  obliged,  and  you  will 
be  placed  under  no  obligation,  until  something  more  permanent 
can  be  secured  for  you.'  This  employment,  which  I  pursued  for 
some  time,  was  to  translate  passages  from  BufFon,  which  was 
abridged  or  altered,  according  to  circumstances,  for  his  Natural 
History." 

Goldsmith's  literary  tasks  were  fast  getting  ahead  of  him,  and 
he  began  now  to  "  toil  after  them  in  vain." 

Five  volumes  of  the  Natural  History  here  spoken  of  had  long 
since  been  paid  for  by  Mr.  Grrifl5n,  yet  most  of  them  were  still  to 
be  written.  His  young  amanuensis  bears  testimony  to  his  em- 
barrassments and  perplexities,  but  to  the  degree  of  equanimity 
with  which  he  bore  them :  ^ 

'•  It  has  been  said,"  observes  he,  "  that  he  was  irritable.  Such 
may  have  been  the  case  at  times ;  nay,  I  believe  it  was  so ;  for 
what  with  the  continual  pursuit  of  authors,  printers,  and  book- 
sellers, and  occasional  pecuniary  embarrassments,  few  could  have 
avoided  exhibiting  similar  marks  of  impatience.  But  it  was  never 
so  towards  me.  I  saw  him  only  in  his  bland  and  kind  moods, 
with  a  flow,  perhaps  an  overflow,  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
for  all  who  were  in  any  manner  dependent  upon  him.  I  looked 
upon  him  with  awe  and  veneration,  and  he  upon  me  as  a  kind 
parent  upon  a  child. 

"  His  manner  and  address  exhibited  much  frankness  and  cor- 


288  OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 

diality,  particularly  to  those  with  whom  he  possessed  any  degree 
of  intimacy.  His  good-nature  was  equally  apparent.  You  could 
not  dislike  the  man,  although  several  of  his  follies  and  foibles 
you  might  be  tempted  to  condemn.  He  was  generous  and  incon- 
siderate :  money  with  him  had  little  value." 

To  escape  from  many  of  the  tormentors  just  alluded  to,  and 
to  devote  himself  without  interruption  to  his  task,  Goldsmith 
took  lodgings  for  the  summer  at  a  farm-house  near  the  six-mile 
stone  on  the  Edgeware  road,  and  carried  down  his  books  in  two 
return  post-chaises.  He  used  to  say  he  believed"  the  farmer's 
family  thought  him  an  odd  character*  similar  to  that  in  which  the 
Spectator  appeared  to  his  landlady  and  her  children  :  he  was  Tite 
Gentleman.  Boswell  tells  us  that  he  went  to  visit  him  at  the 
place  in  company  with  Mickle,  translator  of  the  Lusiad.  Gold- 
smith was  not  at  home.  Having  a  curiosity  to  see  his  apartment, 
however,  they  went  in,  and  found  curious  scraps  of  descriptions 
of  animals  scrawled  upon  the  wall  with  a  black  lead  pencil. 

The  farm-house  in  question  is  still  in  existence,  though  much 
altered.  It  stands  upon  a  gentle  eminence  in  Hyde  Lane,  com- 
manding a  pleasant  prospect  towards  Hendon.  The  room  is  still 
pointed  out  in  which  "  She  Stoops  to  Conquer"  was  written ;  a 
convenient  and  airy  apartment,  up  one  flight  of  stairs. 

Some  matter  of  fact  traditions  concerning  the  author  were 
furnished,  a  few  years  since,  by  a  son  of  the  farmer,  who  was  six- 
teen years  of  age  at  the  time  Goldsmith  resided  with  his  father. 
Though  he  had  engaged  to  board  with  the  family,  his  meals  were 
generally  sent  to  him  in  his  room,  in  which  he  passed  the  most 
of  his  time,  negligently  dressed,  with  his  shirt  collar  open,busily 
engaged  in  writing.  Sometimes,  probably  when  in  moods  of  com- 
position, he  would  wander  into  the  kitchen,  without  noticing  any 


LIFE  AT  EDGEWARE.  289 


one,  stand  musing  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  and  then  hurry  off 
again  to  his  room,  no  doubt  to  commit  to  paper  some  thought 
which  had  struck  him. 

Sometimes  he  strolled  about  the  fields,  or  was  to  be  seen 
loitering  and  reading  and  musing  under  the  hedges.  He  was 
subject  to  fits  of  wakefulness  and  read  much  in  bed ;  if  not  dis- 
posed to  read,  he  still  kept  the  candle  burning ;  if  he  wished  to 
extinguish  it,  and  it  was  out  of  his  reach,  he  flung  his  slipper 
at  it,  which  would  be  found  in  the  morning  near  the  overturned 
candlestick  and  daubed  with  grease.  He  was  noted  here,  as 
every  where  else,  for  his  charitable  feelings.  No  beggar  applied 
to  him  in  vain,  and  he  evinced  on  all  occasions  great  commisera- 
tion for  the  poor. 

He  had  the  use  of  the  parlor  to  receive  and  entertain  com- 
pany, and  was  visited  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Hugh  Boyd, 
the  reputed  author  of  Junius,  Sir  William  Chambers,  and 
other  distinguished  characters.  He  gave  occasionally,  though 
rarely,  a  dinner  party  ;  and  on  one  occasion,  when  his  guests 
were  detained  by  a  thunder  shower,  he  got  up  a  dance,  and  car- 
ried the  merriment  late  into  the  night. 

As  usual,  he  was  the  promoter  of  hilarity  among  the  young, 
and  at  one  time  took  the  children  of  the  house  to  see  a  company 
of  strolling  players  at  Hendou.  The  greatest  amusement  to  the 
party,  however,  was  derived  from  his  own  jokes  on  the  road  and 
his  comments  on  the  performance,  which  produced  infinite  laughter 
among  his  youthful  companions. 

Near  to  his  rural  retreat  at  Edgeware,  a  Mr.  Segiiin,  an  Irish 
merchant,  of  literary  tastes,  had  country  quarters  for  his  family, 
where  Goldsmith  was  always  welcome. 

In  this  family  he  would  indulge  in  playful  and  even  grotesque 
13 


29a  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


humor,  and  was  ready  for  any  thing — conversation,  music,  or  a 
game  of  romps.  He  prided  himself  upon  his  dancing,  and  would 
walk  a  minuet  with  Mrs.  Seguin,  to  the  infinite  amusement  of 
herself  and  the  children,  whose  shouts  of  laughter  he  bore  with 
perfect  good-humor.  He  would  sing  Irish  songs,  and  the  Scotch 
balla'd  of  Johnny  Armstrong.  He  took  the  lead  in  the  children's 
sports  of  blind  man's  bufi",  hunt  the  slipper,  &c.,  or  in  their 
games  at  cards,  and  was  the  most  noisy  of  the  party,  affecting  to 
cheat  and  to  be  excessively  eager  to  win ;  while  with  children  of 
smaller  size  he  would  turn  the  hind  part  of  his  wig  before,  and 
play  all  kinds  of  tricks  to  amuse  them. 

One  word  as  to  his  musical  skill  and  his  performance  on  the 
flute,  which  comes  up  so  invariably  in  all  his  fireside  revels.  He 
really  knew  nothing  of  music  scientifically ;  he  had  a  good 
ear,  and  may  have  played  sweetly  ;  but  we  are  told  he  could  not 
read  a  note  of  music.  Roubillac,  the  statuary,  once  played 
a  trick  upon  him  in  this  respect.  He  pretended  to  score  down 
an  air  as  the  poet  played  it,  but  put  down  crotchets  and  semi- 
breves  at  random.  When  he  had  finished,  Goldsmith  cast  his 
eyes  over  it  and  pronounced  it  correct  !  It  is  possible  that  his 
execution  in  music  was  like  his  style  in  writing ;  in  sweetness  and 
melody  he  may  have  snatched  a  grace  beyond  the  reach  of  art ! 

He  was  at  all  times  a  capital  companion  for  children,  and 
knew  how  to  fall  in  with  their  humors.  "  I  little  thought,"  said 
Miss  Hawkins,  the  woman  grown,  "  what  I  should  have  to  boast, 
when  Goldsmith  taught  me  to  play  Jack  and  Jill  by  two  bits  of 
paper  on  his  fingers."  He  entertained  Mrs.  Garrick,  we  are  told, 
with  a  whole  budget  of  stories  and  songs  ;  delivered  the  Chimney 
Sweep  with  exquisite  taste  as  a  solo ;  and  performed  a  duet  with 
Garrick  of  Old  Rose  and  Burn  the  Bellows. 


CONJURING.— GEORGE  COLMAN.  23t 


"  I  was  only  five  years  old,"  says  the  late  George  Colman, 
"when  Goldsmith  one  evening  when  drinking  coffee  with  my 
father,  took  me  on  his  knee  and  began  to  play  with  me,  which 
amiable  act  I  returned  with  a  very  smart  slap  in  the  face ;  it 
must  have  been  a  tingler,  for  I  left  the  marks  of  my  little  spite- 
ful paw  upon  his  cheek.  This  infantile  outrage  was  followed  by 
summary  justice,  and  I  was  locked  up  by  my  father  in  an  adjoin- 
ing room,  to  undergo  solitary  imprisonment  in  the  dark.  Here 
I  began  to  howl  and  scream  most  abominably.  At  length  a 
friend  appeared  to  extricate  me  from  jeopardy ;  it  was  the  good- 
natured  doctor  himself,  with  a  lighted  candle  in  his  hand,  and  a 
smile  upon  his  countenance,  which  was  still  partially  red  from 
the  effects  of  my  petulance.  I  sulked  and  sobbed,  and  he  fondled 
and  soothed  until  I  began  to  brighten.  He  seized  the  propitious 
moment,  placed  three  hats  upon  the  carpet,  and  a  shilling  under 
each ;  the  shillings,  he  told  me,  were  England,  France,  and 
Spain.  '  Hey,  presto,  cockolorum  !'  cried  the  doctor,  and,  lo  !  on 
uncovering  the  shillings,  they  were  all  found  congregated  under 
one.  I  was  no  politician  at  the  time,  and  therefore  might  not 
have  wondered  at  the  sudden  revolution  which  brought  England, 
France,  and  Spain  all  under  one  crown ;  but,  as  I  was  also  no 
conjurer,  it  amazed  me  beyond  measure.  From  that  time,  when- 
ever the  doctor  came  to  visit  my  father, 

"  I  pluck'd  his  gown  to  share  the  good  man's  smile  ;" 

a  game  of  romps  constantly  ensued,  and  we  were  always  cordial 
friends  and  merry  playfellows." 

Although  Goldsmith  made  the  Edgeware  farmhouse  his  head- 
quarters for  the  summer,  he  would  absent  himself  for  weeks  at 
a  time  on  visits  to  Mr.  Cradock,  Lord  Clare,  and  Mr.  Langton, 


S92  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


at  their  country-seats.  He  would  often  visit  town,  also,  to  dine 
and  partake  of  the  public  amusements.  On  one  occasion  he  ac- 
companied Edmund  Burke  to  witness  a  performance  of  the 
Italian  Fantoccini  or  Puppets,  in  Panton-street ;  an  exhibition 
which  had  hit  the  caprice  of  the  town,  and  was  in  great  vogue. 
The  puppets  were  set  in  motion  by  wires,  so  well  concealed  as  to 
be  with  difficulty  detected.  Boswell,  with  his  usual  obtuseness 
with  respect  to  Goldsmith,  accuses  him  of  being  jealous  of  the 
puppets  !  "  When  Burke,"  said  he,  '•  praised  the  dexterity  with 
which  one  of  them  tossed  a  pike,"  'Pshaw,'  said  Goldsmith 
with  some  ivarmth^  '  I  can  do  it  better  myself "  "  The  same 
evening,"  adds  Boswell,  "  when  supping  at  Burke's  lodgings,  he 
broke  his  shin  by  attempting  to  exhibit  to  the  company  how 
much  better  he  could  jump  over  a  stick  than  the  puppets." 

Goldsmith  jealous  of  puppets  !  This  even  passes  in  absurdity 
Boswell's  charge  upon  him  of  being  jealous  of  the  beauty  of  the 
two  Miss  Hornecks. 

The  Panton-street  puppets  were  destined  to  be  a  source  of 
further  amusement  to  the  town,  and  of  annoyance  to  the  little 
autocrat  of  the  stage.  Foote,  the  Aristophanes  of  the  English 
drama,  who  was  always  on  the  alert  to  turn  every  subject  of 
popular  excitement  to  account,  seeing  the  success  of  the  Fantoc- 
cini, gave  out  that  he  should  produce  a  Primitive  Puppet-show 
at  the  Haymarket,  to  be  entitled  Tlic  Handsome  Chambermaid, 
or  Piety  in  Pattens:  intended  to  burlesque  the  sentimental 
comedy  which  Garrick  still  maintained  at  Drury-Lanc.  The 
idea  of  a  play  to  be  performed  in  a  regular  theatre  by  puppets, 
excited  the  curiosity  and  talk  of  the  town.  "  Will  your  puppets 
be  as  large  as  life,  Mr.  Foote  ?"  demanded  a  lady  of  rank.  "  Oh, 
no,  my  lady  ;"  replied  FootCj  "  not  much  larger  tlian  GarrickP 


DISSIPATION  AND  DEBTS. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Broken  health. — Dissipation  and  debts  — The  Irish  widow. — Practical  jokes. — 
Scrub. — A  misquoted  pun. — Malagrida. — Goldsmith  proved  to  be  a  fool. — 
Distressed  ballad  singers. — The  Poet  at  Ranelagh. 

Goldsmith  returned  to  town  in  the  autumn  (1772),  with  his 
health  much  disordered.  His  close  fits  of  sedentary  application, 
during  which  he  in  a  manner  tied  himself  to  the  mast,  had  laid 
the  seeds  of  a  lurking  malady  in  his  system,  and  produced  a 
severe  illness  in  the  course  of  the  summer.  Town  life  was  not 
favorable  to  the  health  either  of  body  or  mind.  He  could  not 
resist  the  siren  voice  of  temptation,  which,  now  that  he  had  be- 
come a  notoriety,  assailed  him  on  every  side.  Accordingly  we 
find  him  launching  away  in  a  career  of  social  dissipation  ;  dining 
and  supping  out ;  at  clubs,  at  routs,  at  theatres ;  he  is  a  guest 
with  Johnson  at  the  Thrales,  and  an  object  of  Mrs.  Thrale's 
lively  sallies  ;  he  is  a  lion  at  Mrs.  Vesey's  and  Mrs.  Montagu's, 
where  some  of  the  high-bred  blue-stockings  pronounce  him  a 
"  wild  genius,"  and  others,  peradventure,  a  "  wild  Irishman." 
In  the  meantime  his  pecuniary  difficulties  are  increasing  upon 
him,  conflicting  with  his  proneness  to  pleasure  and  expense,  and 
contributing  by  the  harassment  of  his  mind  to  the  wear  and  tear 
of  his  constitution.  His  Animated  Nature,  though  not  finished, 
has  been  entirely  paid  for,  and  the  money  spent.     The  money  ad- 


294  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


K 


vanced  by  Garrick  on  Newbery's  note,  still  hangs  over  him  as  a 
debt.  The  tale  on  which  Newbery  had  loaned  from  two  to  three 
hundred  pounds  previous  to  the  excursion  to  Barton,  has  proved 
a  failure.  The  bookseller  is  urgent  for  the  settlement  of  his 
complicated  account ;  the  perplexed  author  has  nothing  to  offer 
him  in  liquidation  but  the  copyright  of  the  comedy  which  he  has 
in  his  portfolio ;  "  Though  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Frank,"  said  he, 
"  there  are  great  doubts  of  its  success."  The  offer  was  accepted, 
and,  like  bargains  wrung  from  Goldsmith  in  times  of  emergency, 
turned  out  a  golden  speculation  to  the  bookseller. 

In  this  way  Goldsmith  went  on  "  overrunning  the  constable," 
as  he  termed  it ;  spending  every  thing  in  advance  ;  working  with 
an  overtasked  head  and  weary  heart  to  pay  for  past  pleasures  and 
past  extravagance,  and  at  the  same  time  incurring  new  debts,  to 
perpetuate  his  struggles  and  darken  his  future  prospects.  While 
the  excitement  of  society  and  the  excitement  of  composition 
conspire  to  keep  up  a  feverishness  of  the  system,  he  has  incurred 
an  unfortunate  habit  of  quacking  himself  with  James's  powders, 
a  fashionable  panacea  of  the  day. 

A  farce,  produced  this  year  by  Garrick,  and  entitled  The 
Irish  Widow,  perpetuates  the  memory  of  practical  jokes  played 
off  a  year  or  two  previously  upon  the  alleged  vanity  of  poor, 
simple-hearted  Goldsmith.  He  was  one  evening  at  the  house  of 
his  friend  Burke,  when  he  was  beset  by  a  tenth  muse,  an  Irish 
widow  and  authoress,  just  arrived  from  Ireland,  full  of  brogue 
and  blunders,  and  poetic  fire  and  rantipole  gentility.  She  was 
soliciting  subscriptions  for  her  poems ;  and  assailed  Goldsmith 
for  his  patronage ;  the  great  Goldsmith — her  countryman,  and  of 
course  her  friend.  She  overpowered  him  with  eulogiums  on  his 
own  poems,  and  then  read  some  of  her  own,  with  vehemence  of 


PRACTICAL  JOKES.  295 


tone  and  gesture,  appealing  continually  to  the  great  Groldsmith  to 
know  how  he  relished  them. 

Poor  Goldsmith  did  all  that  a  kind-hearted  and  gallant  gen- 
tleman could  do  in  such  a  case ;  he  praised  her  poems  as  far  as 
the  stomach  of  his  sense  would  permit :  perhaps  a  little  further ; 
he  offered  her  his  subscription,  and  it  was  not  until  she  had  re- 
tired with  many  parting  compliments  to  the  great  G-oldsmith, 
that  he  pronounced  the  poetry  which  had  been  inflicted  on  him 
execrable.  The  whole  scene  had  been  a  hoax  got  up  by  Burke 
for  the  amusement  of  his  company,  and  the  Irish  widow,  so  admi- 
rably performed,  had  been  personated  by  a  Mrs.  Balfour,  a  lady 
of  his  connection,  of  great  sprightliness  and  talent. 

We  see  nothing  in  the  story  to  establish  the  alleged  vanity  of 
G-oldsmith,  but  we  think  it  tells  rather  to  the  disadvantage  of 
Burke ;  being  unwarrantable  under  their  relations  of  friendship, 
and  a  species  of  waggery  quite  beneath  his  genius. 

Croker,  in  his  notes  to  Boswell,  gives  another  of  these  practi- 
cal jokes  perpetrated  by  Burke  at  the  expense  of  Goldsmith's 
credulity.  It  was  related  to  Croker  by  Colonel  O'Moore,  of 
Cloghan  Castle,  in  Ireland,  who  was  a  party  concerned.  The 
Colonel  and  Burke,  walking  one  day  through  Leicester  Square 
on  their  way  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's,  with  whom  they  were 
to  dine,  observed  Goldsmith,  who  was  likewise  to  be  a  guest, 
standing  and  regarding  a  crowd  which  was  staring  and  shouting 
at  some  foreign  ladies  in  the  window  of  a  hotel.  "  Observe 
Goldsmith,"  said  Burke  to  O'Moore,  "and  mark  what  passes 
between  us  at  Sir  Joshua's."  They  passed  on  and  reached 
there  before  him.  Burke  received  Goldsmith  with  affected 
reserve  and  coldness:  being  pressed  to  explain  the  reason, 
"  Really,"  said  he,  "  I  am  ashamed  to  keep  company  with  a  per- 


296  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


eon  who  could  act  as  jou  have  just  done  in  the  Square."  Gold- 
smith protested  he  was  ignorant  of  what  was  meant.  "  Why," 
said  Burke,  "  did  you  not  exclaim  as  you  were  looking  up  at 
those  women,  what  stupid  beasts  the  crowd  must  be  for  staring 
with  such  admiration  at  those  jyamtet^  Jezebels^  while  a  man  of 
your  talents  passed  by  unnoticed  ?"  "  Surely,  surely,  my  dear 
friend,"  cried  Goldsmith,  with  alarm,  "surely  I  did  not  say  so?" 
"  Nay,"  replied  Burke,  "  if  you  had  not  said  so,  how  should  I 
have  known  it  ?"  "  That's  true,"  answered  Goldsmith,  "  I  am 
very  sorry — it  was  very  foolish :  /  do  recollect  tliat  something  of 
tJie  kind  passed  through  my  riiind^  hut  I  did  not  think  I  had 
iLttered  itP 

It  is  proper  to  observe  that  these  jokes  were  played  off  by 
Burke  before  he  had  attained  the  full  eminence  of  his  social  posi- 
tion, and  that  he  may  have  felt  privileged  to  take  liberties  with 
Goldsmith  as  his  countryman  and  college  associate.  It  is  evident, 
however,  that  the  peculiarities  of  the  latter,  and  his  guileless 
simplicity,  made  him  a  butt  for  the  broad  waggery  of  some  of  his 
associates  ;  while  others  more  polished,  though  equally  perfidious, 
are  on  the  watch  to  give  currency  to  his  bulls  and  blunders. 

The  Stratford  jubilee,  in  honor  of  Shakspeare,  where  Boswell 
had  made  a  fool  of  himself,  was  still  in  everyone's  mind.  It  was 
sportively  suggested  that  a  fiSte  should  be  held  at  Litchfield  in 
honor  of  Johnson  and  Garrick,  and  that  the  Beaux  Stratagem 
should  be  played  by  the  members  of  the  Literary  Club.  "  Then," 
exclaimed  Goldsmith,  "  I  shall  certainly  play  Scrub.  I  should 
like  of  all  things  to  try  my  hand  at  that  character."  The  un- 
wary speech,  which  any  one  else  might  have  made  without  com- 
ment, has  been  thought  worthy  of  record  as  whimsically  charac- 
teristic.    Beauclerc  was  extremely  apt  to  circulate  anecdotes  at 


MALAGRIDA.  297 


his  expense,  founded  perhaps  on  some  trivial  incident,  but  dressed 
up  with  the  embellishments  of  his  sarcastic  brain.  One  relates 
to  a  venerable  dish  of  peas,  served  up  at  Sir  Joshua's  table,  which 
should  have  been  green,  but  were  any  other  color.  A  wag  sug- 
gested to  Goldsmith,  in  a  whisper,  that  they  should  be  sent  to 
Hammersmith,  as  that  was  the  way  to  turn-em-green  (Turnham- 
Green).  Goldsmith,  delighted  with  the  pun,  endeavored  to  repeat 
it  at  Burke's  table,  but  missed  the  point  "  That  is  the  way  to 
make  'em  green,"  said  he.  Nobody  laughed.  He  perceived  he 
was  at  fault.  "  I  mean  that  is  the  road  to  turn  'em  green."  A 
dead  pause  and  a  stare :  "  whereupon,"  adds  Beauclerc,  '•  he 
started  up  disconcerted  and  abruptly  left  the  table."  This  is 
evidently  one  of  Beauclerc's  caricatures. 

On  another  occasion  the  poet  and  Beauclerc  were  seated  at 
the  theatre  next  to  Lord  Shelburne,  the  minister,  whom  political 
writers  thought  proper  to  nickname  Malagrida.  "  Do  you  know," 
said  Goldsmith  to  his  lordship,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  "  that 
I  never  could  conceive  why  they  call  you  Malagrida,  for  Malagrida 
was  a  very  good  sort  of  man."  This  was  too  good  a  trip  of  the 
tongue  for  Beauclerc  to  let  pass  :  he  serves  it  up  in  his  next  letter 
to  Lord  Charlemont,  as  a  specimen  of  a  mode  of  turning  a 
thought  the  wrong  way,  peculiar  to  the  poet;  he  makes  merry 
over  it  with  his  witty  and  sarcastic  compeer,  Horace  AValpole, 
who  pronounces  it  "  a  picture  of  Goldsmith's  whole  life."  Dr. 
Johnson  alone,  when  he  hears  it  bandied  about  as  Goldsmith's 
last  blunder,  growls  forth  a  friendly  defence :  "  Sir."  said  he,  "  it 
was  a  mere  blunder  in  emphasis.  He  meant  to  say,  I  wonder 
they  should  use  Malagrida  as  a  term  of  reproach."  Poor  Gold- 
smith !  On  such  points  he  was  ever  doomed  to  be  misinter- 
preted.    Rogers,  the  poet,  meeting  in  times  long  subsequent  with 

13* 


298  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


a  survivor  from  those  days,  asked  him  what  Goldsmith  really  was 
in  conversation.  The  old  conversational  character  was  too  deeply 
stamped  in  the  memory  of  the  veteran  to  be  effaced.  "  Sir," 
replied  the  old  wiseacre,  "  he  was  a  fool.  The  right  word  never 
came  to  him.  If  you  gave  him  back  a  bad  shilling,  he'd  say,  Why 
it's  as  good  a  shilling  as  ever  was  horn.  You  know  he  ought  to 
have  said  coined.  Coined.^  sir,  never  entered  his  head.  He  was 
a  fool^  sir.^^ 

We  have  so  many  anecdotes  in  which  Goldsmith's  simplicity 
is  played  upon,  that  it  is  quite  a  treat  to  meet  with  one  in  which 
he  is  represented  playing  upon  the  simplicity  of  others,  especially 
when  the  victim  of  his  joke  is  the  "  Great  Cham"  himself,  whom 
all  others  are  disposed  to  hold  so  much  in  awe.  Goldsmith  and 
Johnson  were  supping  cosily  together  at  a  tavern  in  Dean-street, 
Soho,  kept  by  Jack  Roberts,  a  singer  at  Drury-lane,  and  a  pro- 
tegee of  Garrick's.  Johnson  delighted  in  these  gastronomical 
tete-a-tetes,  and  was  expatiating  in  high  good  humor  on  a  dish  of 
rumps  and  kidneys,  the  veins  of  his  forehead  swelling  with  the 
ardor  of  mastication.  '•  These,"  said  he,  "  are  pretty  little  things; 
but  a  man  must  eat  a  great  many  of  them  before  he  is  filled." 
"  Aye ;  but  how  many  of  them,"  asked  Goldsmith,  with  affected 
simplicity,  "  would  reach  to  the  moon  ?"  "  To  the  moon  !  Ah, 
sir,  that,  I  fear,  exceeds  your  calculation."  "  Not  at  all,  sir  ;  I 
think  I  could  tell."  "  Pray,  then,  sir,  let  us  hear."  "Why,  sir, 
one,  if  it  were  long  enough .'"  Johnson  growled  for  a  time  at 
finding  himself  caught  in  such  a  trite  schoolboy  trap.  "  Well, 
sir,"  cried  he  at  length,  "  I  have  deserved  it.  I  should  not  have 
provoked  so  foolish  an  answer  by  so  foolish  a  question." 

Among  the  many  incidents  related  as  illustrative  of  Gold- 
smith's vanity  and  envy  is  one  which  occurred  one  evening  when 


THE   BALLAD  SINGERS.  299 


he  was  in  a  drawing-room  with  a  party  of  ladies,  and  a  ballad- 
singer  under  the  window  struck  up  his  favorite  song  of  Sally 
Salisbury.     "  How  miserably  this  woman  sings  !"  exclaimed  he. 
"Pray,   doctor,"    said  the  lady  of  the  house,  "could  you  do  it 
better  ?"     "  Yes,  madam,  and  the  company  shall  be  judges."    The 
company,  of  course,  prepared  to  be  entertained  by  an  absurdity ; 
but  their  smiles  were  well  nigh  turned  to  tears,  for  he  acquitted 
himself  with  a  skill  and  pathos  that  drew  universal  applause.    He 
had,  in  fact,  a  delicate  ear  for  music,  which  had  been  jarred  by 
the  false  notes  of  the  ballad-singer ;  and  there  were  certain  pa- 
thetic ballads,  associated  with  recollections  of  his  childhood,  which 
were  sure  to  touch  the  springs  of  his  heart.     We  have  another 
story  of  him,  connected  with  ballad-singing,  which  is  still  more 
characteristic.     He  was  one  evening  at  the  house  of  Sir  William 
Chambers,  in  Berners-street,  seated  at  a  whist-table  with  Sir 
William,  Lady  Chambers,  and  Baretti,  when  all  at  once  he  threw 
down  his  cards,  hurried  out  of  the  room  and  into  the  street.     He 
returned  in  an  instant,  resumed  his  seat,  and  the  game  went  on. 
Sir  William,  after  a  little  hesitation,  ventured  to  ask  the  cause 
of  his  retreat,  fearing  he  had  been  overcome  by  the  heat  of  the 
room.    "  Not  at  all,"  replied  Goldsmith ;  '•  but  in  truth  I  could  not 
bear  to  hear  that  unfortunate  woman  in  the  street,  half  singing,  half 
sobbing,  for  such  tones  could  only  arise  from  the  extremity  of 
distress ;  her  voice  grated  painfully  on  my  ear  and  jarred  my 
frame,  so  that  I  could  not  rest  until  I  had  sent  her  away."     It 
was  in  fact  a  poor  ballad-singer  whose  cracked  voice  had  been 
heard  by  others  of  the  party,  but  without  having  the  same  effect 
on  their  sensibilities.     It  was  the  reality  of  his  fictitious  scene  in 
the  story  of  the  Man  in  Black ;  wherein  he  describes  a  woman 
in  rags,  with  one  child  in  her  arms  and  another  on  her  back, 


300  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


attempting  to  sing  ballads,  but  with  such  a  mournful  voice  that 
it  was  difficult  to  determine  whether  she  was  singing  or  crying. 
"  A  wretch,"  he  adds,  "  who,  in  the  deepest  distress,  still  aimed  at 
good  humor,  was  an  object  my  friend  was  by  no  means  capable 
of  withstanding."  The  Man  in  Black  gave  the  poor  woman  all 
that  he  had — a  bundle  of  matches.  Goldsmith,  it  is  probable,  sent 
his  ballad-singer  away  rejoicing,  with  all  the  money  in  his  pocket. 
E-anelagh  was  at  that  time  greatly  in  vogue  as  a  place  of  pub- 
lic entertainment.  It  was  situated  near  Chelsea  ;  the  principal 
room  was  a  llotunda  of  great  dimensions,  with  an  orchestra  in 
the  centre,  and  tiers  of  boxes  all  round.  It  was  a  place  to  which 
Johnson  resorted  occasionally.  '•  I  am  a  great  friend  to  public 
amusements,"  said  he,  "  for  they  keep  people  from  vice."*  Gold- 
smith was  equally  a  friend  to  them,  though  perhaps  not  altogether 
on  such  moral  grounds.  He  was  particularly  fond  of  masque- 
rades, which  were  then  exceed ingl}'  popular,  and  got  up  at  Rane- 
lagh  with  great  expense  and  magnificence.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
v/ho  had  likewise  a  taste  for  such  amusements,  was  sometimes 
his  companion,  at  other  times  he  went  alone ;  his  peculiarities  of 
person  and  manner  would  soon  betray  him,  whatever  might  be 
his  disguise,  and  he  would  be  singled  out  by  wags,  acquainted 
with  his  foibles,  and  more  successful  than  himself  in  maintaining 

*  "  Alas,  sir  I"  said  Johnson,  speaking,  when  in  another  mood,  of  grand 
houses,  fine  gardens,  and  splendi<l  places  of  pubUc  amusement ;  "  alas,  sir  ! 
these  are  only  struggles  for  happiness.  When  I  first  entered  Ranelagh  it  gave 
an  expansion  and  gay  sensation  to  my  mind,  such  as  I  never  experienced  any- 
where else.  But,  as  Xerxes  wept  when  he  viewed  his  immense  anny,  and  con- 
sidered that  not  one  of  that  great  multitude  would  be  alive  a  hundred  years 
afterwards,  ro  it  went  to  my  heart  to  consider  that  there  was  not  one  in  all 
that  brilliant  circle  that  was  not  afraid  to  go  home  and  think." 


MASQUERADING.  301 


their  incognito,  as  a  capital  subject  to  be  played  upon.  Some, 
pretending  not  to  know  hira,  would  decry  bis  writings,  and  praise 
those  of  his  contemporaries ;  others  would  laud  his  verses  to  the 
skies,  but  purposely  misquote  and  burlesque  them  ;  others  would 
annoy  him  with  parodies :  while  one  young  lady,  whom  he  was 
teasing,  as  he  supposed,  with  great  success  and  infinite  humor, 
silenced  his  rather  boisterous  laughter  by  quoting  his  own  line 
about  "  the  loud  laugh  that  speaks  the  vacant  mind  "  On  one 
occasion  he  was  absolutely  driven  out  of  the  house  by  the  persever- 
ing jokes  of  a  wag,  whose  complete  disguise  gave  him  no  means 
of  retaliation. 

His  name  appearing  in  the  newspapers  among  the  distin- 
guished persons  present  at  one  of  these  amusements,  his  old 
enemy,  Kenrick,  immediately  addressed  to  him  a  copy  of  anony- 
mous verses,  to  the  following  purport. 

To  Dr.  Goldsmith ;  on  seeing  his  name  in  the  list  of  mum- 
mers at  the  late  masquerade : 

"  How  widely  different,  Goldsmith,  are  the  ways 
Of  Doctors  now,  and  those  of  ancient  days ! 
Theirs  taught  the  truth  in  academic  shades. 
Ours  in  lewd  hops  and  midnight  masquerades. 
So  changed  the  times !  say,  philosophic  sage, 
Whose  genius  suits  so  well  this  tasteful  age, 
Is  the  Pantheon,  late  a  sink  obscene, 
Become  the  fountain  of  chaste  Hippocrene  ? 
Or  do  thy  moral  numbers  quaintly  flow, 
Inspired  by  th'  Aganippe  of  Soho  ? 
Do  wisdom's  sons  gorge  cates  and  vermicelli. 
Like  beastly  Bjckerstaffe  or  bothering  Kelly? 
Or  art  thou  tired  of  th'  undeserved  applause. 
Bestowed  on  bards  affecting  Virtue's  cause  ? 


302  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


Is  this  the  good  that  makes  the  humble  vain. 
The  good  philosophy  should  not  disdain  ? 
If  so,  let  pride  dissemble  all  it  can, 
A  modern  sage  is  still  much  less  than  man." 

"Goldsmith  was  keenly  sensitive  to  attacks  of  the  kind,  and 
meeting  Kenrick  at  the  Chapter  Coflfee-house,  called  him  to  sharp 
account  for  taking  such  a  liberty  with  his  name,  and  calling  his 
morals  in  question,  merely  on  account  of  his  being  seen  at  a 
place  of  general  resort  and  amusement.  Kenrick  shuffled  and 
sneaked,  protesting  that  he  meant  nothing  derogatory  to  his 
private  character.  Goldsmith  let  him  know,  however,  that  he 
was  aware  of  his  having  more  than  once  indulged  in  attacks  of 
this  dastard  kind,  and  intimated  that  another  such  outrage  would 
be  followed  by  personal  chastisement. 

Kenrick  having  played  the  craven  in  his  presence,  avenged 
himself  as  soon  as  he  was  gone  by  complaining  of  his  having 
made  a  wanton  attack  upon  him,  and  by  making  coarse  comments 
upon  his  writings,  conversation,  and  person. 

The  scurrilous  satire  of  Kenrick,  however  unmerited,  may 
have  checked  Goldsmith's  taste  for  masquerades.  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  calling  on  the  poet  one  morning,  found  him  walking 
about  his  room  in  somewhat  of  a  reverie,  kicking  a  bundle  of 
clothes  before  him  like  a  foot-ball.  It  proved  to  be  an  expen- 
sive masquerade  dress,  which  he  said  he  had  been  fool  enough  to 
purchase,  and  as  there  was  no  other  way  of  getting  the  worth  of 
his  money,  he  was  trying  to  take  it  out  in  exercise. 


INVITATION  TO  CHRISTSSjSJJfyK^      3(» 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Invitation  to  Christmas. — The  spring-velvet  coat. — The  haymaking  wig. — 
The  mischances  of  loo. — The  fair  culprit. — A  dance  with  the  Jessamy 
Bride. 

From  the  feverish  dissipations  of  town,  Groldsmith  is  summoned 
away  to  partake  of  the  genial  dissipations  of  the  country.  In 
the  month  of  December,  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Bunbury  invites  him 
down  to  Burton,  to  pass  the  Christmas  holidays.  The  letter  is 
written  in  the  usual  playful  vein  which  marks  his  intercourse 
with  this  charming  family.  He  is  to  come  in  his  "  smart  spring- 
velvet  coat,"  to  bring  a  new  wig  to  dance  with  the  haymakers  in, 
and  above  all,  to  follow  the  advice  of  herself  and  her  sister,  (the 
Jessamy  Bride,)  in  playing  loo.  This  letter,  which  plays  so 
archly,  yet  kindly,  with  some  of  poor  Goldsmith's  peculiarities, 
and  bespeaks  such  real  ladylike  regard  for  him,  requires  a  word 
or  two  of  annotation.  The  spring-velvet  suit  alluded  to,  appears 
to  have  been  a  gallant  adornment,  (somewhat  in  the  style  of  the 
famous  bloom-colored  coat.)  in  which  Goldsmith  had  figured  in 
the  preceding  month  of  May — the  season  of  blossoms — for,  on  the 
21st  of  that  month,  we  find  the  following  entry  in  the  chronicle  of 
Mr.  William  Filby,  tailor  :  To  your  blv£  velvet  suit^  £21  10s.  9d. 
Also,  about  the  same  time,  a  suit  of  livery  and  a  crimson  collar 


304  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


for  the  serving  man.  Again  we  hold  the  Jessamy  Bride  respon- 
sible for  this  gorgeous  splendor  of  wardrobe. 

The  new  wig  no  doubt  is  a  bag-wig  and  solitaire,  still  highly 
the  mode,  and  in  which  Goldsmith  is  represented  as  figuring 
when  in  full  dress,  equipped  with  his  sword. 

As  to  the  dancing  with  the  haymakers,  we  presume  it  alludes 
to  some  gambol  of  the  poet,  in  the  course  of  his  former  visit  to 
Barton  ;  when  he  ranged  the  fields  and  lawns  a  chartered  liber- 
tine, and  tumbled  into  the  fish-ponds. 

As  to  the  suggestions  about  loo,  they  are  in  sportive  allusion 
to  the  doctor's  mode  of  playing  that  game  in  their  merry  evening 
parties  ;  affecting  the  desperate  gambler  and  easy  dupe  ;  running 
counter  to  all  rule ;  making  extravagant  ventures  ;  reproaching 
all  others  with  cowardice  ;  dashing  at  all  hazards  at  the  pool,  and 
getting  himself  completely  loo'd,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the 
company.  The  drift  of  the  fair  sisters'  advice  was  most  probably 
to  tempt  him  on,  and  then  leave  him  in  the  lurch. 

With  these  comments  we  subjoin  Groldsmith's  reply  to  Mrs. 
Bunbury,  a  fine  piece  of  off-hand,  humorous  writing,  which  has 
but  in  late  years  been  given  to  the  public,  and  which  throws  a 
familiar  light  on  the  social  circle  at  Barton. 

"  Madam, — I  read  your  letter  with  all  that  allowance  which 
critical  candor  could  require,  but  after  all  find  so  much  to  object 
to,  and  so  much  to  raise  my  indignation,  that  I  cannot  help  giv- 
ing it  a  serious  answer. — I  am  not  so  ignorant,  madam,  as  not 
to  see  there  are  many  sarcasms  contained  in  it,  and  solecisms 
also.  (Solecism  is  a  word  that  comes  from  the  town  of  Soleis  in 
Attica,  among  the  Greeks,  built  by  Solon,  and  applied  as  we  use 
the  word  Kidderminster  for  curtains  from  a  town  also  of  that 
name — but  this  is   learning   you  have  no  taste  for !) — I    say, 


THE  SPRING-VELVET  COAT.  305 


madam,  there  are  many  sarcasms  in  it,  and  solecisms  also.  But 
not  to  seem  an  ill-natured  critic,  I'll  take  leave  to  quote  your 
own  words,  and  give  you  my  remarks  upon  them  as  they  occur. 
You  begin  as  follows : 

'  I  hope,  my  good  Doctor,  you  soon  will  be  here. 
And  your  spring-velvet  coat  very  smart  will  appear, 
To  open  our  ball  the  first  day  of  the  year.' 


"  Pray,  madam,  where  did  you  ever  jfind  thb  epithet  '  good,' 
applied  to  the  title  of  doctor  ?  Had  you  called  me  '  learned  doc- 
tor,' or  'grave  doctor,'  or  'noble  doctor,'  it  might  be  allowable, 
because  they  belong  to  the  profession.  But,  not  to  cavil  at  tri- 
fles, you  talk  of  my  '  spring-velvet  coat,'  and  advise  me  to  wear 
it  the  first  day  in  the  year,  that  is,  in  the  middle  of  winter ! — a 
spring-velvet  coat  in  the  middle  of  winter  ! ! !  That  would  be 
a  solecism  indeed  !  and  yet  to  increase  the  inconsistence,  in 
another  part  of  your  letter  you  call  me  a  beau.  Now,  on  one 
side  or  other,  you  must  be  wrong.  If  I  am  a  beau,  I  can  never 
think  of  wearing  a  spring-velvet  in  winter :  and  if  I  am  not  a 
beau,  why  then,  that  explains  itself.  But  let  me  go  on  to  your 
two  next  strange  lines : 

'  And  bring  with  you  a  wig,  that  is  modish  and  gay. 
To  dance  with  the  girls  that  are  makers  of  hay.* 


"  The  absurdity  of  making  hay  at  Christmas  you  yourself 
seem  sensible  of:  you  say  your  sister  will  laugh  ;  and  so  indeed 
she  well  may  !  The  Latins  have  an  expression  for  a  contemp- 
tuous kind  of  laughter,  '  naso  contemnere  adunco ;'  that  is,  to 
laugh  with  a  crooked  nose.     She  may  laugh  at  you  in  the  man- 


306  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


ner  of  the  ancients  if  she  thinks  fit.  But  now  I  come  to  the 
most  extraordinary  of  all  extraordinary  propositions,  which  is, 
to  take  your  and  your  sister's  advice  in  playing  at  loo.  The 
presumption  of  the  offer  raises  my  indignation  beyond  the 
bounds  of  prose ;  it  inspires  me  at  once  with  verse  and  resent- 
ment.    I  take  advice  !  and  from  whom  1     You  shall  hear. 

i 

"  First  let  me  suppose,  what  may  shortly  be  true, 
The  company  set,  and  the  word  to  be  Loo : 
All  smirking,  and  pleasant,  and  big  with  adventure. 
And  ogling  the  stake  which  is  fix'd  in  the  centre. 
Round  and  round  go  the  cards,  while  I  inwardly  damn 
At  never  once  finding  a  visit  from  Pam. 
I  lay  down  my  stake,  apparently  cool, 
While  the  harpies  about  me  all  pocket  the  pool. 
I  fret  in  my  gizzard,  yet,  cautious  and  sly, 
I  wish  all  my  friends  may  be  bolder  than  I : 
Yet  still  they  sit  snug,  not  a  creature  will  aim 
By  losing  their  money  to  venture  at  fame. 
'Tis  in  vain  that  at  niggardly  caution  I  scold, 
'Tis  in  vain  that  I  flatter  the  brave  and  the  bold : 
All  play  their  own  way,  and  they  think  me  an  ass,  .  .  . 
'  What  does  Mrs.  Bunbury  ?'  .  .  *  I,  Sir  ?     I  pass.' 

*  Pray  what  does  Miss  Horneck  ?  take' courage,  come  do,'  .  . 
'  Who,  I  ?  let  me  see,  sir,  why  I  must  pass  too.' 

Mr.  Bunbury  frets,  and  I  fret  like  the  devil, 

To  see  them  so  cowardly,  lucky,  and  civil. 

Yet  still  I  sit  snug,  and  continue  to  sigh  on, 

'Till,  made  by  my  losses  as  bold  as  a  lion, 

I  venture  at  all,  while  my  avarice  regards 

The  whole  pool  as  my  own.  .  .  *  Come  give  me  five  cards.' 

*  Well  done  !'  cry  the  ladies  ;  *  Ah,  Doctor,  that's  good  ! 
The  pool's  very  rich,  .  .  ah !  the  Doctor  is  loo'd !' 


THE  FAIR  CULPRITS.  307 


Thus  foil'd  in  my  courage,  on  all  sides  perplext, 
I  ask  for  advice  from  the  lady  that's  next : 

*  Pray,  ma'am,  be  so  good  as  to  give  your  advice  ; 
Don't  you  think  the  best  way  is  to  venture  for't  twice  V 
'  I  advise,'    cries  the  lady,  *  to  try  it,  I  own.  .  . 

*  Ah  !  the  doctor  is  loo'd !  Come,  Doctor,  put  down.* 
Thus,  playing,  and  playing,  I  still  grow  more  eager. 
And  so  bold,  and  so  bold,  I'm  at  last  a  bold  beggar. 
Now,  ladies,  I  ask,  if  law-matters  you're  skill'd  in, 
Whether  crimes  such  as  yours  should  not  come  before  Fielding : 
For  giving  advice  that  is  not  worth  a  straw. 

May  well  be  call'd  picking  of  pockets  in  law  ; 

And  picking  of  pockets,  with  which  I  now  charge  ye. 

Is,  by  quinto  Elizabeth,  Death  without  Clergy. 

What  justice,  when  both  to  the  Old  Baily  brought ! 

By  the  gods,  I'll  enjoy  it,  tho'  'tis  but  in  thought ! 

Both  are  plac'd  at  the  bar,  with  all  proper  decorum. 

With  bunches  of  fennel,  and  nosegays  before  'em  ; 

Both  cover  their  faces  with  mobs  and  all  that. 

But  the  judge  bids  them,  angrily,  take  off  their  hat. 

When  Hncover'd,a  buzz  of  inquiry  runs  round, 

'  Pray  what  are  their  crimes?'  .  .  '  They've  been  pilfering  found.' 

*  But,  pray,  who  have^they  pilfer'd  ?'  .  .  *  A  doctor,  I  hear.' 

*  What,  yon  solemn-faced,  odd-looking  man  that  stands  near  ?' 
'  The  same.'  .  . '  What  a  pity !  how  does  it  surprise  one. 

Two  handsomer  culprits  I  never  set  eyes  on  ." 

Then  their  friends  all  come  round  me  with  cringing  and  leering. 

To  melt  me  to  pity,  and  soften  my  swearing. 

First  Sir  Charles  advances  with  phrases  well-strung, 

*  Consider,  dear  Doctor,  the  girls  are  but  young.' 
♦The  younger  the  worse,'  I  return  him  again, 

*  It  shows  that  their  habits  are  all  dyed  in  grain.' 

'  But  then  they're  so  handsome,  one's  bosom  it  grieves.' 

*  What  signifies  handsome,  when  people  are  thieves?' 


808  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


'  But  where  is  your  justice  1  their  cases  are  hard.' 
•  What  signifies  justice  ?  I  want  the  reward. 

" '  There's  the  parish  of  Edmonton  offers  forty  pounds ; 
there's  the  parish  of  St.  Leonard  Shoreditch  offers  forty  pounds  ; 
there's  the  parish  of  Tyburn,  from  the  Hog-in-the-pound  to  St. 
Giles's  watch-house,  offers  forty  pounds, — I  shall  have  all  that  if 
I  convict  them  !' — 

"  •  But  consider  their  case,  .  .  it  may  yet  be  your  own ! 

And  see  how  they  kneel !     Is  your  heart  made  of  stone  V 

This  moves :  .  .  so  at  last  I  agree  to  relent, 

For  ten  pounds  in  hand,  and  ten  pounds  to  be  spent.' 

••  I  challenge  you  all  to  answer  this :  I  tell  you,  you  cannot. 
It  cuts  deep.  But  now  for  the  rest  of  the  letter :  and  next — 
but  I  want  room — so  I  believe  I  shall  battle  the  rest  out  at 
Barton  some  day  next  week. — I  don't  value  you  all ! 

"  0.  G." 

We  regret  that  we  have  no  record  of  this  Christmas  visit  to 
Barton  ;  that  the  poet  had  no  Boswell  to  follow  at  his  heels,  and 
take  note  of  all  his  sayings  and  doings.  We  can  only  picture 
him  in  our  minds,  casting  off  all  care ;  enacting  the  lord  of  mis- 
rule ;  presiding  at  the  Christmas  revels  ;  providing  all  kinds  of 
merriment ;  keeping  the  card-table  in  an  uproar,  and  finally  open- 
ing the  ball  on  the  first  day  of  the  year  in  his  spring-velvet  suit, 
with  the  Jessamy  Bride  for  a  partner. 


THEATRICAL  DELAYS.  309 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Theatrical  delays. — Negotiations  with  Colman. — Letter  to  Garrick. — Croaking 
of  the  manager. — Naming  of  the  play. — She  Stoops  to  Conquer. — Foote's 
Primitive  Puppetshow,  Piety  on  Pattens. — First  performance  of  the 
comedy. — Agitation  of  the  author. — Success. — Colman  squibbed  out  of 
town. 

The  gay  life  depicted  in  the  two  last  chapters,  while  it  kept 
Goldsmith  in  a  state  of  continual  excitement,  aggravated  the 
malady  which  was  impairing  his  constitution  ;  yet  his  increasing 
perplexities  i-n  money  matters  drove  him  to  the  dissipation  of 
society  as  a  relief  from  solitary  care.  The  delays  of  the  theatre 
added  to  those  perplexities.  He  had  long  since  finished  his  new 
comedy,  yet  the  year  1772  passed  away  without  his  being  able  to 
get  it  on  the  stage.  No  one,  uninitated  in  the  interior  of  a 
theatre,  that  little  world  of  traps  and  trickery,  can  have  any  idea 
of  the  obstacles  and  perplexities  multiplied  in  the  way  of  the 
most  eminent  and  successful  author  by  the  mismanagement  of 
managers,  the  jealousies  and  intrigues  of  rival  authors,  and  the 
fantastic  and  impertinent  caprices  of  actors.  A  long  and  baffling 
negotiation  was  carried  on  between  Groldsmith  and  Colman,  the 
manager  of  Covent-Garden ;  who  retained  the  play  in  his  hands 
until  the  middle  of  January,  (1773.)  without  coming  to  a  deci- 
sion.    The  theatrical  season  was  rapidly  passing  away,  and  Gold- 


310  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


smith's  pecuniary  difficulties  were  augmenting  and  pressing  on 
him.     We  may  judge  of  his  anxiety  by  the  following  letter : 

"  To  George  Cohnan,  Esq. 
"  Dear  Sir, 

"  I  entreat  you'll  relieve  me  from  that  state  of  suspense  in 
which  I  have  been  kept  for  a  long  time.  Whatever  objections 
you  have  made  or  shall  make  to  my  play,  I  will  endeavor  to  re- 
move and  not  argue  about  them.  To  bring  in  any  new  judges 
either  of  its  merits  or  faults  I  can  never  submit  to.  Upon  a 
former  occasion,  when  my  other  play  was  before  Mr.  Garrick,  he 
offered  to  bring  me  before  Mr.  Whitehead's  tribunal,  but  I  refused 
the  proposal  with  indignation :  I  hope  I  shall  not  experience  as 
harsh  treatment  from  you  as  from  him.  I  have,  as  you  know,  a 
large  sum  of  money  to  make  up  shortly ;  by  accepting  my  play, 
I  can  readily  satisfy  my  creditor  that  way ;  at  any  rate,  I  must 
look  about  to  some  certainty  to  be  prepared.  For  God's  sake 
take  the  play,  and  let  us  make  the  best  of  it,  and  let  me  have 
the  same  measure,  at  least,  which  you  have  given  as  bad  plays  as 
mine. 

"  I  am  your  friend  and  servant, 

"  Oliver  Goldsmith." 

Colman  returned  the  manuscript  with  the  blank  sides  of  the 
leaves  scored  with  disparaging  comments,  and  suggested  altera- 
tions, but  with  the  intimation  that  the  faith  of  the  theatre  should 
be  kept,  and  the  play  acted  notwithstanding.  Goldsmith  submit- 
ted the  criticisms  to  some  of  his  friends,  who  pronounced  them 
trivial,  unfair,  and  contemptible,  and  intimated  that  Colman, 
being  a  dramatic  writer  himself,  might  be  actuated  by  jealousy. 


NEGOTIATIONS  WITH  COLMAN.  3H: 


The  play  was  then  sent,  with  Colman's  comments  written  on  it, 
to  Garrick ;  but  he  had  scarce  sent  it  when  Johnson  interfered, 
represented  the  evil  that  might  result  from  an  apparent  rejection 
of  it  by  Covent-Garden,  and  undertook  to  go  forthwith  to  Colman, 
and  have  a  talk  with  him  on  the  subject.  Goldsmith,  therefore, 
penned  the  following  note  to  Garrick : 

"  Dear  Sir, 

"  I  ask  many  pardons  for  the  trouble  I  gave  you  yesterday. 
Upon  more  mature  deliberation,  and  the  advice  of  a  sensible 
friend,  I  began  to  think  it  indelicate  in  me  to  throw  upon  you 
the  odium  of  confirmiDg  Mr.  Colman's  sentence.  I  therefore 
request  you  will  send  my  play  back  by  my  servant ;  for  having 
been  assured  of  having  it  acted  at  the  other  house,  though  I  con- 
fess yours  in  every  respect  more  to  my  wish,  yet  it  would  be  folly 
in  me  to  forego  an  advantage  which  lies  in  my  power  of  appeal- 
ing from  Mr.  Colman's  opinion  to  the  judgment  of  the  town.  I 
entreat,  if  not  too  late,  you  will  keep  this  affair  a  secret  for  some 
time. 

"  I  am,  dear  Sir,  your  very  humble  servant, 

"  Oliver  Goldsmith." 

The  negotiation  of  Johnson  with  the  manager  of  Covent- 
Garden  was  effective.  "  Colman,"  he  says,  "  was  prevailed  on  at 
last,  by  much  solicitation,  nay,  a  kind  of  force,"  to  bring  forward 
the  comedy.  Still  the  manager  was  ungenerous ;  or,  at  least, 
indiscreet  enough  to  express  his  opinion,  that  it  would  not  reach 
a  second  representation.  The  plot,  he  said,  was  bad,  and  the  in- 
terest not  sustained ;  "  it  dwindled,  and  dwindled,  and  at  last 
went  out  like  the  snuff  of  a  candle."     The  effect  of  his  croaking 


312  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


was  soon  apparent  within  the  walls  of  the  theatre.  Two  of  the 
most  popular  actors,  Woodward  and  Gentleman  Smith,  to  whom 
the  parts  of  Tony  Lumpkin  and  Young  Marlow  were  assigned, 
refused  to  act  them ;  one  of  them  alleging,  in  excuse,  the  evil 
predictions  of  the  manager.  Goldsmith  was  advised  to  postpone 
the  performance  of  his  play  until  he  could  get  these  important 
parts  well  supplied.  "  No,"  said  he,  "  I  would  sooner  that  my 
play  were  damned  by  bad  players  than  merely  saved  by  good 
acting." 

Quick  was  substituted  for  Woodward  in  Tony  Lumpkin,  and 
Lee  Lewis,  the  harlequin  of  the  theatre,  for  Gentleman  Smith  in 
Young  Marlow ;  and  both  did  justice  to  their  parts. 

Great  interest  was  taken  by  Goldsmith's  friends  in  the  suc- 
cess of  his  piece.  The  rehearsals  were  attended  by  Johnson, 
Cradock,  Murphy,  Reynolds  and  his  sister,  and  the  whole  JQ[ef=^ 
neck  connection,  including,  of  course,  the  Jessamy  B)  ide^  whose 
presence  may  have  contributed  to  flutter  the  anxious  'leart  of  the 
author.  The  rehearsals  went  off  with  great  applaufe,  but  that 
Colman  attributed  to  the  partiality  of  friends.  He  continued  to 
croak,  and  refused  to  risk  any  expense  in  new  scerery  or  dresses 
on  a  play  which  he  was  sure  would  prove  a  failure. 

The  time  was  at  hand  for  the  first  representation,  and  as  yet 
the  comedy  was  without  a  title.  "  We  are  all  in  labor  for  a  name 
for  Goldy's  play,"  said  Johnson,  who,  as  usual,  took  a  kind  of 
fatherly  protecting  interest  in  poor  Goldsmith's  affairs.  ''  The 
Old  House  a  New  Inn"  was  thought  of  for  a  time,  but  still  did 
not  please.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  proposed  "  The  Belle's  Strata- 
gem," an  elegant  title,  but  not  considered  applicable,  the  perplex- 
ities of  the  comedy  being  produced  by  the  mistake  of  the  hero, 
not  the  stratagem  of  the  heroine.      The  name  was  afterwards 


THE  PRIMITIVE  PUPPETSHOW.  3^3 


adopted  by  Mrs.  Cowley  for  one  of  her  comedies.  '•  The  Mistakes 
of  a  Night"  was  the  title  at  length  fixed  upon,  to  which  Goldsmith 
prefixed  the  words,  "  She  Stoops  to  Conquer." 

The  evil  bodings  of  Colman  still  continued :  they  were  even 
communicated  in  the  box  office  to  the  servant  of  the  Duke  of 
Grloucester,  who  was  sent  to  engage  a  box.  Never  did  the  play 
of  a  popular  writer  struggle  into  existence  through  more  dif- 
ficulties. 

In  the  mean  time  Foote's  Primitive  Puppetshoiv^  entitled  the 
Handsome  Housemaid^  or  Piety  on  Pattens^  had  been  brought 
out  at  the  Hay  market  on  the  15th  of  February.  All  the  world, 
fashionable  and  unfashionable,  had  crowded  to  the  theatre.  The 
street  was  thronged  with  equipages — the  doors  were  stormed  by 
the  mob.  The  burlesque  was  completely  successful,  and  senti- 
mental comedy  received  its  quietus.  Even  Garrick,  who  had  re- 
cently befriended  it,  now  gave  it  a  kick,  as  he  saw  it  going  down 
hill,  and  sent  Goldsmith  a  humorous  prologue  to  help  his  comedy 
of  the  opposite  school.  Garrick  and  Goldsmith,  however,  were 
now  on  very  cordial  terms,  to  which  the  social  meetings  in  the 
circle  of  the  Hornecks  and  Bunburys  may  have  contributed. 

On  the  15th  of  March  the  new  comedy  was  to  be  performed. 
Those  who  had  stood  up  for  its  inerits,  and  been  irritated  and 
disgusted  by  the  treatment  it  had  received  from  the  manager, 
determined  to  muster  their  forces,  and  aid  in  giving  it  a  good 
launch  upon  the  town.  The  particulars  of  this  confederation,  and 
of  its  triumphant  success,  are  amusingly  told  by  Cumberland  in 
his  memoirs. 

"  We  were  not  over  sanguine  of  success,  but  perfectly  deter- 
mined to  struggle  hard  for  our  author.  We  accordingly  assem- 
bled our  strength  at  the  Shakspeare  Tavern,  in  a  considerable 

14 


314  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


body,  for  an  early  dinner,  where  Samuel  Johnson  took  the  chair 
at  the  head  of  a  long  table,  and  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  corps : 
the  poet  took  post  silently  by  his  side,  with  the  Burkes,  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  Fitzherbert,  Caleb  Whitefoord,  and  a  phalanx 
of  North  British,  predetermined  applauders,  under  the  banner  of 
Major  Mills,  all  good  men  and  true.  Our  illustrious  president 
was  in  inimitable  glee ;  and  poor  Goldsmith  that  day  took  all 
his  raillery  as  patiently  and  complacently  as  my  friend  Boswell 
would  have  done  any  day  or  every  day  of  his  life.  In  the  mean 
time,  we  did  not  forget  our  duty ;  and  though  we  had  a  better 
comedy  going,  in  which  Johnson  was  chief  actor,  we  betook 
"  ourselves  in  good  time  to  our  separate  and  allotted  posts,  and 
waited  the  awful  drawing  up  of  the  curtain.  As  our  stations 
were  preconcerted,  so  were  our  signals  for  plaudits  arranged 
and  determined  upon  in  a  manner  that  gave  every  one  his  cue 
where  to  look  for  them,  and  how  to  follow  them  up. 

"  We  had  among  us  a  very  worthy  and  efficient  member,  long 
since  lost  to  his  friends  and  the  world  at  large,  Adam  Drum- 
mond,  of  amiable  memory,  who  was  gifted  by  nature  with  the 
most  sonorous,  and  at  the  same  time,  the  most  contagious  laugh, 
that  ever  echoed  from  the  human  lungs.  The  neighing  of  the 
horse  of  the  son  of  Hystaspes  was  a  whisper  to  it ;  the  whole 
thunder  of  the  theatre  could  not  drown  it.  This  kind  and  in- 
genious friend  fairly  forewarned  us  that  he  knew  no  more  when 
to  give  his  fire  than  the  cannon  did  that  was  planted  on  a  bat- 
tery. He  desired,  therefore,  to  have  a  flapper  at  his  elbow,  and 
I  had  the  honor  to  be  deputed  to  that  office.  I  planted  him 
in  an  upper  box,  pretty  nearly  over  the  stage,  in  full  view  of 
the  pit  and  galleries,  and  perfectly  well  situated  to  give  the  echo 
all  its  play  through  the  hollqws  and  recesses  of  the  theatre.     The 


A  LAUGHING  FUGLEMAN.  315 


success  of  our  manoeuvre  was  complete.  All  eyes  were  upon 
Johnson,  who  sat  in  a  front  row  of  a  side  box ;  and  when  he 
laughed,  everybody  thought  themselves  warranted  to  roar.  In 
the  mean  time,  my  friend  followed  signals  with  a  rattle  so  irre- 
sistibly comic  that,  when  he  had  repeated  it  several  times,  the 
attention  of  the  spectators  was  so  engrossed  by  his  person  and 
performances,  that  the  progress  of  the  play  seemed  likely  to  be- 
come a  secondary  object,  and  I  found  it  prudent  to  insinuate  to 
him  that  he  might  halt  his  music  without  any  prejudice  to  the 
author ;  but  alas  !  it  was  now  too  late  to  rein  him  in ;  he  had 
laughed  upon  my  signal  where  he  found  no  joke,  and  now,  un- 
luckily, he  fancied  that  he  found  a  joke  in  almost  every  thing 
that  was  said ;  so  that  nothing  in  nature  could  be  more  mal-apro- 
pos  than  some  of  his  bursts  every  now  and  then  were.  These 
were  dangerous  moments,  for  the  pit  began  to  take  umbrage ;  but 
we  carried  our  point  through,  and  triumphed  not  only  over  Col- 
man's  judgment,  but  our  own." 

Much  of  this  statement  has  been  condemned  as  exaggerated 
or  discolored.  Cumberland's  memoirs  have  generally  been  cha- 
racterized as  partaking  of  romance,  and  in  the  present  instance 
he  had  particular  motives  for  tampering  with  the  truth.  He  was 
a  dramatic  writer  himself,  jealous  of  the  success  of  a  rival,  and 
anxious  to  have  it  attributed  to  the  private  management  of  friends. 
According  to  various  accounts,  public  and  private,  such  manage- 
ment was  unnecessary,  for  the  piece  was  "  received  throughout 
with  the  greatest  acclamations." 

Goldsmith,  in  the  present  instance,  had  not  dared,  as  on  a 
former  occasion,  to  be  present  at  the  first  performance.  He  had 
been  so  overcome  by  his  apprehensions  that,  at  the  preparatory 
dinner,  he  could  hardly  utter  a  word,  and  was  so  choked  that  he 


316  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


could  not  swallow  a  mouthful.  When  his  friends  trooped  to  the 
theatre,  he  stole  away  to  St.  James's  Park :  there  he  was  found 
by  a  friend,  between  seven  and  eight  o'clock,  wandering  up  and 
down  the  Mall  like  a  troubled  spirit.  With  difficulty  he  was  per- 
suaded to  go  to  the  theatre,  where  his  presence  might  be  impor- 
tant should  any  alteration  be  necessary.  He  arrived  at  the  open- 
ing of  the  fifth  act,  and  made  his  way  .behind  the  scenes.  Just 
as  he  entered  there  was  a  slight  hiss  at  the  improbability  of  Tony 
Lumpkin's  trick  on  his  mother,  in  persuading  her  she  was  forty 
miles  off,  on  Crackskull  Common,  though  she  had  been  trundled 
about  on  her  own  grounds.  "  What's  that  2  what's  that ! "  cried 
Goldsmith  to  the  manager,  in  great  agitation.  "  Pshaw  !  Doctor," 
replied  Colman,  sarcastically,  "  don't  be  frightened  at  a  squib, 
when  we've  been  sitting  these  two  hours  on  a  barrel  of  gunpow- 
der ! "  Though  of  a  most  forgiving  nature,  Goldsmith  did  not 
easily  forget  this  ungracious  and  ill-timed  sally. 

If  Colman  was  indeed  actuated  by  the  paltry  motives  ascribed 
to  him  in  his  treatment  of  this  play,  he  was  most  amply  punished 
by  its  success,  and  by  the  taunts,  epigrams,  and  censures  levelled 
at  him  through  the  press,  in  which  his  false  prophecies  were 
jeered  at ;  his  critical  judgment  called  in  question ;  and  he  was 
openly  taxed  with  literary  jealousy.  So  galling  and  unremitting 
was  the  fire,  that  he  at  length  wrote  to  Goldsmith,  entreating  him 
"  to  take  him  off  the  rack  of  the  newspapers  ;"  in  the  mean  time, 
to  escape  the  laugh  that  was  raised  about  him  in  the  theatrical 
world  of  London,  he  took  refuge  in  Bath  during  the  triumphant 
career  of  the  comedy. 

The  following  is  one  of  the  many  squibs  which  assailed  the 
ears  of  the  manager : 


SQUIBS  AND  CRACKERS.  317 


To  George  Colman,  Esq., 

ON   THE   SUCCESS   OF    DR.    GOLDSMITH'S    NEW   COMEDY. 

"  Come,  Coley,  doff  those  mourning  weeds, 
Nor  thus  with  jokes  be  flamm'd  ; 
Tho'  Goldsmith's  present  play  succeeds. 

His  next  may  still  be  damn'd.  . 

As  this  has  'scaped  without  a  fall, 

To  sink  his  next  prepare  ; 
New  actors  hire  from  Wapping  Wall, 

And  dresses  from  Rag  Fair. 

For  scenes  let  tattefd  blankets  fly. 

The  prologue  Kelly  write  ; 
Then  swear  again  the  piece  must  die 

Before  the  author's  night. 

Should  these  tricks  fail,  the  lucky  elf, 

To  bring  to  lasting  shame. 
E'en  write  the  best  you  can  yourself, 

And  print  it  in  his  name." 

The  solitary  hiss,  which  had  startled  Groldsmith,  was  ascribed 
by  some  of  the  newspaper  scribblers  to  Cumberland  himself,  who 
was  "  manifestly  miserable  "  at  the  delight  of  the  audience,  or  to 
Ossian  Macpherson,  who  was  hostile  to  the  whole  Johnson  clique, 
or  to  Groldsmith's  dramatic  rival,  Kelly.  The  following  is  one  of 
t'le  epigrams  which  appeared  : 

"  At  Dr.  Goldsmith's  merry  play, 
All  the  spectators  laugh,  they  say  ; 
The  assertion,  sir,  I  must  deny. 
For  Cumberland  and  Kelly  cry. 

Mde,  si  sapis." 


318  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


Another,  addressed  to  Goldsmith,  alludes  to  Kelly's  early  ap- 
prenticeship to  stay -making : 

"  If  Kelly  finds  fault  with  the  shape  of  your  muse, 
And  thinks  that  too  loosely  it  plays. 
He  surely,  dear  Doctor,  will  never  refuse 
To  make  it  a  new  Pair  of  Stays .'" 

Cradock  had  returned  to  the  country  before  the  production 
of  the  play ;  the  following  letter,  written  just  after  the  perform- 
ance, gives  an  additional  picture  of  the  thorns  which  beset  an 
author  in  the  path  of  theatrical  literature : 

*'  My  Dear  Sir, 

"  The  play  has  met  with  a  success  much  beyond  your  expecta- 
tions or  mine.  I  thank  you  sincerely  for  your  epilogue,  which, 
however,  could  not  be  used,  but  with  your  permission  shall  be 
printed.  The  story  in  short  is  this.  Murphy  sent  me  rather 
the  outline  of  an  epilogue  than  an  epilogue,  which  was  to  be  sung 
by  Miss  Catley,  and  which  she  approved ;  Mrs.  Bulkley  hearing 
this,  insisted  on  throwing  up  her  part "  [Miss  Hardcastle)  "  un- 
less, according  to  the  custom  of  the  theatre,  she  were  permitted 
to  speak  the  epilogue.  In  this  embarrassment  I  thought  or 
making  a  quarrelling  epilogue  between  Catley  and  her,  debating 
wlw  should  speak  the  epilogue;  but  then  Mrs,  Catley  refused 
after  I  had  taken  the  trouble  of  drawing  it  out.  I  was  then  at 
a  loss  indeed  ;  an  epilogue  was  to  be  made,  and  for  none  but  Mrs. 
Bulkley.  I  made  one,  and  Colman  thought  it  too  bad  to  be 
spoken ;  I  was  obliged,  therefore,  to  try  a  fourth  time,  and  I 
made  a  very  mawkish  thing,  as  you'll  shortly  see.  Such  is  the 
history  of  my  stage  adventures,  and  which  I  have  at  last  done 


CRITICAL  OPINIONS.  319 


with.  I  cannot  help  saying,  that  I  am  very  sick  of  the  stage ; 
and  though  I  believe  I  shall  get  three  tolerable  benefits,  yet  I 
shall,  on  the  whole,  be  a  loser,  even  in  a  pecuniary  light ;  my 
ease  and  comfort  I  certainly  lost  while  it  was  in  agitation. 

"  I  am,  my  dear  Cradock,  your  obliged  and  obedient  servant, 

"  Oliver.  Goldsmith. 

"  P.  S.  Present  my  most  humble  respects  to  Mrs.  Cradock." 

Johnson,  who  had  taken  such  a  conspicuous  part  in  promoting 
the  interests  of  poor  "  Goldy,"  was  triumphant  at  the  success  of 
the  piece.  "  I  know  of  no  comedy  for  many  years,"  said  he, 
"  that  has  so  much  exhilarated  an  audience ;  that  has  answer- 
ed so  much  the  great  end  of  comedy — making  an  audience 
merry." 

Goldsmith  was  happy,  also,  in  gleaning  applause  from  less 
authoritative  sources.  Northcote,  the  painter,  then  a  youthful 
pupil  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  :  and  Ralph,  Sir  Joshua's  confiden- 
tial man,  had  taken  their  stations  in  the  gallery  to  lead  the  ap- 
plause in  that  quarter.  Goldsmith  asked  Northcote's  opinion  of 
the  play.  The  youth  modestly  declared  he  could  not  presume  to 
judge  in  such  matters.  "  Did  it  make  you  laugh  ?"  "  Oh,  ex- 
ceedingly !"  "  That  is  all  I  require,"  replied  Goldsmith ;  and 
rewarded  him  for  his  criticism  by  box-tickets  for  his  first  benefit 
night. 

The  comedy  was  immediately  put  to  press,  and  dedicated  to 
Johnson  in  the  following  grateful  and  affectionate  terms  : 

"  In  inscribing  this  slight  performance  to  you,  I  do  not  mean 
so  much  to  compliment  you  as  myself  It  may  do  me  some 
honor  to  inform  the  public,  that  I  have  lived  many  years  in  inti- 
macy with  you.     It  may  serve  the  interests  of  mankind  also  to 


320  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


inform  them,  that  the  greatest  wit  may  be  found  in  a  character, 
without  impairing  the  most  unaffected  piety." 

The  copyright  was  transferred  to  Mr.  Newbery,  according  to 
agreement,  whose  profits  on  the  sale  of  the  work  far  exceeded  the 
debts  for  which  the  author  in  his  perplexities  had  pre-engaged  it. 
The  sum  which  accrued  to  Goldsmith  from  his  benefit  nights, 
afforded  but  a  slight  palliation  of  his  pecuniary  difficulties.  His 
friends,  while  they  exulted  in  his  success,  little  knew  of  his  con- 
tinually increasing  embarrassments,  and  of  the  anxiety  of  mind 
which  kept  tasking  his  pen  while  it  impaired  the  ease  and  free- 
dom of  spirit  necessary  to  felicitous  composition. 


A  NEWSPAPER  ATTACK.  321 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

A  newspaper  attack. — The  Evans  affray. — Johnson's  comment. 

The  triumphant  success  of  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  brought  forth, 
of  course,  those  carpings  and  cavillings  of  underling  scribblers, 
which  are  the  thorns  and  briers  in  the  path  of  successful  authors. 
Goldsmith,  though  easily  nettled  by  attacks  of  the  kind,  was  at 
present  too  well  satisfied  with  the  reception  of  his  comedy  to  heed 
them  ;  but  the  following  anonymous  letter,  which  appeared  in  a 
public  paper,  was  not  to  be  taken  with  equal  equanimity : 

"  For  the  London  Packet. 

"  TO    DR.    GOLDSMITH. 

'•  Vous  vous  noyez  par  vanite. 

"  Sir, — The  happy  knack  which  you  have  learned  of  puffing 

your  own  compositions,  provokes  me  to  come  forth.     You  have 

not  been  the  editor  of  newspapers  and  magazines  not  to  discover 

the  trick  of  literary  humbug ;  but  the  gauze  is  so  thin  that  the 

very  foolish  part  of  the  world  see  through  it,  and  discover  the 

doctor's  monkey  face  and  cloven  foot      Your  poetic  vanity  is  as 

unpardonable  as  your  personal.     Would  man  believe  it,  and  will 

woman  bear  it,  to  be  told  that  for  hours  the  great  Goldsmith  will 

14=^ 


332  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


stand  surveying  his  grotesque  orang-outang's  figure  in  a  pier- 
glass  ?  Was  but  the  lovely  H — k  as  much  enamored,  you  would 
not  sigh,  my  gentle  swain,  in  vain.  But  your  vanity  is  prepos- 
terous. How  will  this  same  bard  of  Bedlam  ring  the  changes  in 
the  praise  of  Goldy  !  But  what  has  he  to  be  either  proud  or  vain 
of?  'The  Traveller'  is  a  flimsy  poem,  built  upon  false  princi- 
ples— principles  diametrically  opposite  to  liberty.  What  is  '  The 
Good-natured  Man'  but  a  poor,  water-gruel  dramatic  dose  1  What 
is  '  The  Deserted  Village'  but  a  pretty  poem  of  easy  numbers, 
without  fancy,  dignity,  genius,  or  fire?  And,  pray,  what  may  be 
the  last  speaking  pantomime^  so  praised  by  the  doctor  himself, 
but  an  incoherent  piece  of  stufi",  the  figure  of  a  woman  with  a 
fish's  tail,  without  plot,  incident,  or  intrigue  ?  We  are  made  to 
laugh  at  stale,  dull  jokes,  wherein  we  mistake  pleasantry  for  wit, 
and  grimace  for  humor ;  wherein  every  scene  is  unnatural  and 
inconsistent  with  the  rules,  the  laws  of  nature  and  of  the 
drama ;  viz.,  two  gentlemen  come  to  a  man  of  fortune's  house, 
eat,  drink,  &c.,  and  take  it  for  an  inn.  The  one  is  intended  as 
a  lover  for  the  daughter ;  he  talks  with  her  for  some  hours ; 
and,  when  he  sees  her  again  in  a  different  dress,  he  treats  her 
as  a  bar-gitl^  and  swears  she  squinted.  He  abuses  the  master 
of  the  house,  and  threatens  to  kick  him  out  of  his  own  doors. 
The  squire,  whom  we  are  told  is  to  be  a  fool,  proves  to  be  the 
most  sensible  being  of  the  piece ;  and  he  makes  out  a  whole  act 
by  bidding  his  mother  lie  close  behind  a  bush,  persuading  her 
that  his  father,  her  own  husband,  is  a  highAvayman,  and  that  he 
has  come  to  cut  their  throats ;  and,  to  give  his  cousin  an  oppor- 
tunity to  go  off,  he  drives  his  mother  over  hedges,  ditches,  and 
through  ponds.  There  is  not,  sweet,  sucking  Johnson,  a  natural 
stroke  in  the  whole  play  but  the  young  fellow's  giving  the  stolen 


THE  EVANS  AFFRAY.  323 


jewels  to  the  mother,  supposing  her  to  be  the  landlady.  That 
Mr.  Colman  did  no  justice  to  this  piece,  I  honestly  allow ;  that 
he  told  all  his  friends  it  would  be  damned,  I  positively  aver ;  and, 
from  such  ungenerous  insinuations,  without  a  dramatic  merit,  it 
rose  to  public  notice,  and  it  is  now  the  ton  to  go  and  see  it,  though 
I  never  saw  a  person  that  either  liked  it  or  approved  it,  any  more 
than  the  absurd  plot  of  Home's  tragedy  of  '  Alonzo.'  Mr.  Gold- 
smith, correct  your  arrogance,  reduce  your  vanity,  and  endeavor 
to  believe,  as  a  man,  you  are  of  the  plainest  sort ;  and  as  an 
author,  but  a  mortal  piece  of  mediocrity. 

"  Brise  le  miroir  infidfele 
Qui  vous  cache  la  v^rit^. 

"Tom  Tickle." 

It  would  be  difficult  to  devise  a  letter  more  calculated  to  wound 
the  peculiar  sensibilities  of  Goldsmith.  The  attacks  upon  him  as 
an  author,  though  annoying  enough,  he  could  have  tolerated  ;  but 
then  the  allusion  to  his  "  grotesque"  person,  to  his  studious  at- 
tempts to  adorn  it ;  and  above  all,  to  his  being  an  unsuccessful  ad- 
mirer of  the  lovely  H — k  (the  Jessamy  Bride),  struck  rudely  upon 
the  most  sensitive  part  of  his  highly  sensitive  nature.  The  para- 
graph, it  is  said,  was  first  pointed  out  to  him  by  an  officious  friend, 
an  Irishman,  who  told  him  he  was  bound  in  honor  to  resent  it ;  but 
he  needed  no  such  prompting.  He  was  in  a  high  state  of  excite-, 
ment  and  indignation,  and  accompanied  by  his  friend,  who  is  said 
to  have  been  a  Captain  Higgins,  of  the  marines,  he  repaired  to 
Paternoster-row,  to  the  shop  of  Evans,  the  publisher,  whom  he 
supposed  to  be  the  editor  of  the  paper.  Evans  was  summoned  by 
his  shopman  from  an  adjoining  room.     Goldsmith  announced  his 


324  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


name.  "  I  have  called,"  added  he,  "  in  consequence  of  a  scur- 
rilous attack  made  upon  me,  and  an  unwarrantable  liberty  taken 
witb  the  name  of  a  young  lady.  As  for  myself,  I  care  little ;  but 
her  name  must  not  be  sported  with." 

Evans  professed  utter  ignorance  of  the  matter,  and  said  he 
would  speak  to  the  editor.  He  stooped  to  examine  a  file  of  the 
paper,  in  search  of  the  ofiensive  article ;  whereupon  Goldsmith's 
friend  gave  him  a  signal,  that  now  was  a  favorable  moment  for 
the  exercise  of  his  cane.  The  hint  was  taken  as  quick  as  given, 
and  the  cane  was  vigorously  applied  to  the  back  of  the  stooping 
publisher.  The  latter  rallied  in  an  instant,  and,  being  a  stout, 
high-blooded  Welshman,  returned  the  blows  with  interest.  A 
lamp  hanging  overhead  was  broken,  and  sent  down  a  shower  of 
oil  upon  the  combatants ;  but  the  battle  raged  with  unceasing 
fury.  The  shopman  ran  off  for  a  constable ;  but  Dr.  Kenrick, 
who  happened  to  be  in  the  adjacent  room,  sallied  forth,  interfered 
between  the  combatants,  and  put  an  end  to  the  aifray.  He  con- 
ducted Goldsmith  to  a  coach,  in  exceedingly  battered  and  tat- 
tered plight,  and  accompanied  him  home,  soothing  him  with  much 
mock  commiseration,  though  he  was  generally  suspected,  and  on 
good  grounds,  to  be  the  author  of  the  libel. 

Evans  immediately  instituted  a  suit  against  Goldsmith  for 
an  assault,  but  was  ultimately  prevailed  upon  to  compromise  the 
matter,  the  poet  contributing  fifty  pounds  to  the  Welsh  charity. 

Newspapers  made  themselves,  as  may  well  be  supposed,  ex- 
ceedingly merry  with  the  combat.  Some  censured  him  severely 
for  invading  the  sanctity  of  a  man's  own  house ;  others  accused 
him  of  having,  in  his  former  capacity  of  editor  of  a  magazine,  been 
guilty  of  the  very  oflences  that  he  now  resented  in  others.  This 
drew  from  him  the  following  vindication  : 


THE  VINDICATION.  325 


"  To  tJie  Public. 


"  Lest  it  should  be  supposed  that  I  have  been  willing  to  cor- 
rect in  others  an  abuse  of  which  I  have  been  guilty  myself,  I  beg 
leave  to  declare,  that,  in  all  my  life,  I  never  wrote  or  dictated  a 
single  paragraph,  letter,  or  essay  in  a  newspaper,  except  a  few 
moral  essays  under  the  character  of  a  Chinese,  about  ten  years 
ago,  in  the  Ledger,  and  a  letter,  to  which  I  signed  my  name,  in 
the  St.  James's  Chronicle.  If  the  liberty  of  the  press,  therefore, 
has  been  abused,  I  have  had  no  hand  in  it. 

"  I  have  always  considered  the  press  as  the  protector  of  our 
freedom,  as  a  watchful  guardian,  capable  of  uniting  the  weak 
against  the  encroachments  of  power.  What  concerns  the  public 
most  properly  admits  of  a  public  discussion.  But,  of  late,  the 
press  has  turned  from  defending  public  interest  to  making  in- 
roads upon  private  life  ;  from  combating  the  strong  to  overwhelm- 
ing the  feeble.  No  condition  is  now  too  obscure  for  its  abuse, 
and  the  protector  has  become  the  tyrant  of  the  people.  In  this 
manner  the  freedom  of  the  press  is  beginning  to  sow  the  seeds  of 
its  own  dissolution  ;  the  great  must  oppose  it  from  principle,  and 
the  weak  from  fear ;  till  at  last  every  rank  of  mankind  shall  be 
found  to  give  up  its  benefits,  content  with  security  from  insults. 

^'  How  to  put  a  stop  to  this  licentiousness,  by  which  all  are 
indiscriminately  abused,  and  by  which  vice  consequently  escapes 
in  the  general  censure,  I  am  unable  to  tell ;  all  I  could  wish  is, 
that,  as  the  law  gives  us  no  protection  against  the  injur}^,  so  it 
should  give  calumniators  no  shelter  after  having  provoked  cor- 
rection. The  insults  which  we  receive  before  the  public,  by  being 
more  open,  are  the  more  distressing ;  by  treating  them  with  silent 
contempt  we  do  not  pay  a  sufficient  deference  to  the  opinion  of 


326  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


the  world.  By  recurring  to  legal  redress  we  too  often  expose  the 
weakness  of  the  law,  which  only  serves  to  increase  our  mortifica- 
tion by  failing  to  relieve  us.  In  short,  every  man  should  singly 
consider  himself  as  the  guardian  of  the  liberty  of  the  press,  and, 
as  far  as  his  influence  can  extend,  should  endeavor  to  prevent  its 
licentiousness  becoming  at  last  the  grave  of  its  freedom. 

"  Oliver  Gtoldsmith." 

Boswell,  who  had  just  arrived  in  town,  met  with  this  article 
in  a  newspaper  which  he  found  at  Dr.  Johnson's.  The  doctor 
was  from  home  at  the  time,  and  Bozzy  and  Mrs.  Williams,  in  a 
critical  conference  over  the  letter,  determined  from  the  style  that 
it  must  have  been  written  by  the  lexicographer  himself.  The 
latter  on  his  return  soon  undeceived  them.  "  Sir,"  said  he  to 
Boswell,  "  Goldsmith  would  no  more  have  asked  me  to  have  wrote 
such  a  thing  as  that  for  him,  than  he  would  have  asked  me  to 
feed  him  with  a  spoon,  or  do  any  thing  else  that  denoted  his  im- 
becility. Sir,  had  he  shown  it  to  any  one  friend,  he  would  not 
have  been  allowed  to  publish  it.  He  has,  indeed,  done  it  very 
well ;  but  it  is  a  foolish  thing  well  done.  I  suppose  he  has  been 
so  much  elated  with  the  success  of  his  new  comedy,  that  he  has 
thought  every  thing  that  concerned  him  must  be  of  importance  to 
the  public." 


BOS  WELL  IN  HOLY- WEEK.  327 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Boswell  in  Holy- Week. — Dinner  at  Oglethorpe's. — Dinner  at  Paoli's  — The 
policy  of  truth. — Goldsmith  affects  independence  of  royalty. — Paoli's  com- 
pliment— Johnson's  eulogium  on  the  fiddle. — Question  about  suicide. — 
Boswell's  subserviency. 

The  return  of  Boswell  to  town  to  his  task  of  noting  down  the 
conversations  of  Johnson,  enables  us  to  glean  from  his  journal 
some  scanty  notices  of  Goldsmith.  It  was  now  Holy- Week,  a 
time,  during  which  Johnson  was  particularly  solemn  in  his  man- 
ner and  strict  in  his  devotions.  Boswell,  who  was  the  imitator 
of  the  great  moralist  in  every  thing,  assumed,  of  course,  an  ex- 
tra devoutness  on  the  present  occasion.  "  He  had  an  odd  mock 
solemnity  of  tone  and  manner,"  said  Miss  Burney,  (afterwards 
Madame  D'Arblay,)  "which  he  had  acquired  from  constantly 
thinking,  and  imitating  Dr.  Johnson."  It  would  seem  that  he 
undertook  to  deal  out  some  second-hand  homilies,  a  la  John- 
son^ for  the  edification  of  Goldsmith  during  Holy- Week.  The 
poet,  whatever  might  be  his  religious  feeling,  had  no  disposition 
to  be  schooled  by  so  shallow  an  apostle.  "  Sir,"  said  he  in  reply, 
"  as  I  take  my  shoes  from  the  shoemaker,  and  my  coat  from  the 
tailor,  so  I  take  my  religion  from  the  priest." 

Boswell  treasured  up  the  reply  in  his  memory  or  his  memo- 
randum book.     A  few  days  afterwards,  the  9th  of  April,  he  kept 


328  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


Good  Friday  with  Dr.  Johnson,  in  orthodox  style ;  breakfasted 
with  him  on  tea  and  crossbuns  ;  went  to  church  with  him  morn- 
ing and  evening ;  fasted  in  the  interval,  and  read  with  him  in  the 
Greek  Testament :  then,  in  the  piety  of  his  heart,  complained 
of  the  sore  rebuff  he  had  met  with  in  the  course  of  his  religious 
exhortations  to  the  poet,  and  lamented  that  the  latter  should  in- 
dulge in  "  this  loose  way  of  talking,"  "  Sir,"  replied  Johnson, 
"Goldsmith  knows  nothing — he  has  made  up  his  mind  about 
nothing." 

This  reply  seems  to  have  gratified  the  lurking  jealousy  of 
Boswell,  and  he  has  recorded  it  in  his  journal.  Johnson,  how- 
ever, with  respect  to  Goldsmith,  and  indeed  with  respect  to  every 
body  else,  blew  hot  as  well  as  cold,  according  to  the  humor  he 
was  in.  Boswell,  who  was  astonished  and  piqued  at  the  continu- 
ally increasing  celebrity  of  the  poet,  observed  some  time  after  to 
Johnson,  in  a  tone  of  surprise,  that  Goldsmith  had  acquired 
more  fame  than  all  the  officers  of  the  last  war  who  were  not 
generals.  "Why,  sir,"  answered  Johnson,  his  old  feeling  of 
good-will  working  uppermost,  "  you  will  find  ten  thousand  fit  to 
do  what  they  did,  before  you  find  one  to  do  what  Goldsmith  has 
done.  You  must  consider  that  a  thing  is  valued  according  to  its 
rarity.  A  pebble  that  paves  the  street,  is  in  itself  more  useful 
than  the  diamond  upon  a  lady's  finger." 

On  the  13th  of  April  we  find  Goldsmith  and  Johnson  at  the 
table  of  old  General  Oglethorpe,  discussing  the  question  of  the 
degeneracy  of  the  human  race.  Goldsmith  asserts  the  fact,  and 
attributes  it  to  the  influence  of  luxury.  Johnson  denies  the 
fact ;  and  observes,  that  even  admitting  it,  luxury  could  not  be 
the  cause.  It  reached  but  a  small  proportion  of  the  human 
race.     Soldiers,  on  sixpence  a  day,  could  not  indulge  in  luxuries ; 


DINNER  AT  PAOLI'S.  329 


the  poor  and  laboring  classes,  forming  the  great  mass  of  mankind, 
were  out  of  its  sphere.  Wherever  it  could  reach  them,  it 
strengthened  them  and  rendered  them  prolific.  The  conversa- 
tion was  not  of  particular  force  or  point  as  reported  by  Boswell ; 
the  dinner  party  was  a  very  small  one,  in  which  there  was  no 
provocation  to  intellectual  display. 

After  dinner  they  took  tea  with  the  ladies,  where  we  find 
poor  Goldsmith  happy  and  at  home,  singing  Tony  Lumpkin's 
song  of  the  "  Three  Jolly  Pigeons,"  and  another,  called  the 
"  Humors  of  Ballamaguery,"  to  a  very  pretty  Irish  tune.  It 
was  to  have  been  introduced  in  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  but  was 
left  out,  as  the  actress  who  played  the  heroine  could  not  sing. 

It  was  in  these  genial  moments  that  the  sunshine  of  Grold- 
smith's  nature  would  break  out,  and  he  would  say  and  do  a 
thousand  whimsical  and  agreeable  things  that  made  him  the  life 
of  the  strictly  social  circle.  Johnson,  with  whom  conversation 
was  every  thing,  used  to  judge  Groldsmith  too  much  by  his  own 
colloquial  standard,  and  undervalue  him  for  being  less  provided 
than  himself  with  acquired  facts,  the  ammunition  of  the  tongue 
and  often  the  mere  lumber  of  the  memory ;  others,  however, 
valued  him  for  the  native  felicity  of  his  thoughts,  however  care- 
lessly expressed,  and  for  certain  good-fellow  qualities,  less  calcu- 
lated to  dazzle  than  to  endear.  "  It  is  amazing,"  said  Johnson 
one  day,  after  he  himself  had  been  talking  like  an  oracle ;  "  it 
is  amazing  how  little  Goldsmith  knows  ;  he  seldom  comes  where 
he  is  not  more  ignorant  than  any  one  else."  "Yet,"  replied  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  with  afi'ectionate  promptness,  "  there  is  no  man 
whose  company  is  more  liked P 

Two  or  three  days  after  the  dinner  at  General  Oglethorpe's, 
Goldsmilii  met  Johnson  again  at  the  table  of  General  Paoli,  the 


330  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


hero  of  Corsica.  Martinelli,  of  Florence,  author  of  an  Italian  His- 
tory of  England,  was  among  the  guests  ;  as  was  Boswell,  to  whom 
we  are  indebted  for  minutes  of  the  conversation  which  took  place. 
The  question  was  debated  whether  Martinelli  should  continue  his 
history  down  to  that  day.  "  To  be  sure  he  should,"  said  Gold- 
smith. "  No,  sir  ;"  cried  Johnson,  "  it  would  give  great  oifence. 
He  would  have  to  tell  of  almost  all  the  living  great  what  they 
did  not  wish  told."  Groldsmith. — "  It  may,  perhaps,  be  necessary 
for  a  native  to  be  more  cautious ;  but  a  foreigner,  who  comes 
among  us  without  prejudice,  may  be  considered  as  holding  the 
place  of  a  judge,  and  may  speak  his  mind  freely."  Johnson. — 
"  Sir,  a  foreigner,  when  he  sends  a  work  from  the  press,  ought  to 
be  on  his  guard  against  catching  the  error  and  mistaken  enthu- 
siasm of  the  people  among  whom  he  happens  to  be."  Goldsmith. 
— "  Sir,  he  wants  only  to  sell  his  history,  and  to  tell  truth  ; 
one  an  honest,  the  other  a  laudable  motive."  Johnson. — 
"  Sir,  they  are  both  laudable  motives.  It  is  laudable  in  a  man 
to  wish  to  live  by  his  labors ;  but  he  should  write  so  as  he 
may  live  by  them,  not  so  as  he  may  be  knocked  on  the  head. 
I  would  advise  him  to  be  at  Calais  before  he  publishes  his  his- 
tory of  the  present  age.  A  foreigner  who  attaches  himself  to 
a  political  party  in  this  country,  is  in  the  worst  state  that  can 
be  imagined;  he  is  looked  upon  as  a  mere  intermeddler.  A 
native  may  do  it  from  interest."  Boswell. — "  Or  principle." 
Goldsmith. — "There  are  people  who  tell  a  hundred  political 
lies  every  day,  and  are  not  hurt  by  it.  Surely,  then,  one  may  tell 
truth  with  perfect  safety."  Johnson. — "  Why,  sir,  in  the  first 
place,  he  who  tells  a  hundred  lies  has  disarmed  the  force  of  his 
lies.  But,  besides,  a  man  had  rather  have  a  hundred  lies  told  of 
him,  than  one  truth  which  he  does  not  wish  to  be  tola!"     Gold- 


INDEPENDENCE  OF  ROYALTY.  ^331 


smith. — "  For  my  part,  I'd  tell  the  truth,  and  shame  the  devil." 
Johnson. — "  Yes,  sir,  but  the  devil  will  be  angry.  I  wish  to 
shame  the  devil  as  much  as  you  do,  but  I  should  choose  to  be 
out  of  the  reach  of  his  claws."  Goldsmith. — "  His  claws  can  do 
you  no  hurt  where  you  have  the  shield  of  truth." 

This  last  reply  was  one  of  Goldsmith's  lucky  hits,  and  closed 
the  argument  in  his  favor. 

"  We  talked,"  writes  Boswell,  "  of  the  king's  coming  to  see 
Goldsmith's  new  play."  "  I  wish  he  would,"  said  Goldsmith,  add- 
ing, however,  with  an  affected  indifference,  "  not  that  it  would 
do  me  the  least  good."  "  Well,  then,"  cried  Johnson,  laughing, 
"  let  us  say  it  would  do  him  good.  No,  sir,  this  affectation  will 
not  pass ; — it  is  mighty  idle.  In  such  a  state  as  ours,  who  would 
not  wish  to  please  the  chief  magistrate  ?" 

"  I  do  wish  to  please  him,"  rejoined  Goldsmith.  "  I  remem- 
ber a  line  in  Dryden : 

*  And  every  poet  is  the  monarch's  friend,' 

it  ought  to  be  reversed."  "Nay,"  said  Johnson,  "there  are 
finer  lines  in  Dryden  on  this  subject : 

*  For  colleges  on  bounteous  kings  depend, 
And  never  rebel  was  to  arts  a  friend.'  " 

General  Paoli  observed  that  "successful  rebels  might  be." 
"  Happy  rebellions,"  interjected  Martinelli.  "  We  have  no  such 
phrase,"  cried  Goldsmith.  "But  have  you  not  the  thing?" 
asked  Paoli.  "  Yes,"  replied  Goldsmith,  "  all  our  happy  revolu- 
tions.    They  have  hurt  our  constitution,  and  ivill  hurt  it,  till  we 


33S  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

mend  it  by  another  happy  revolution."  This  was  a  sturdy  sally 
of  Jacobitism,  that  quite  surprised  Boswell,  but  must  have  been 
relished  by  Johnson. 

General  Paoli  mentioned  a  passage  in  the  play,  which  had 
been  construed  into  a  compliment  to  a  lady  of  distinction,  whose 
marriage  with  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  had  excited  the  strong 
disapprobation  of  the  king  as  a  mesalliance.  Boswell,  to  draw 
Goldsmith  out,  pretended  to  think  the  compliment  unintentional. 
The  poet  smiled  and  hesitated.  The  general  came  to  his  relief 
"  Monsieur  Goldsmith,"  said  he,  "  est  comme  la  mer,  qui  jette 
des  perles  et  beau  coup  d'autres  belles  choses,  sans  s'en  apper- 
cevoir."  (Mr.  Goldsmith  is  like  the  sea,  which  casts  forth  pearls 
and  many  other  beautiful  things  without  perceiving  it.) 

"  Tres-bien  dit,  et  tres-elegamment,"  (very  well  said,  and  very 
elegantly,)  exclaimed  Goldsmith ;  delighted  with  so  beautiful  a 
compliment  from  such  a  quarter. 

Johnson  spoke  disparagingly  of  the  learning  of  a  Mr.  Harris, 
of  Salisbury,  and  doubted  his  being  a  good  Grecian.  "  He  is 
what  is  much  better,"  cried  Goldsmith,  with  prompt  good  nature, 
"he  is  a  worthy,  humane  man."  "Nay,  sir,"  rejoined  the  logical 
Johnson,  '•  that  is  not  to  the  purpose  of  our  argument ;  that 
will  prove  that  he  can  play  upon  the  fiddle  as  well  as  Giardini,  as 
that  he  is  an  eminent  Grecian."  Goldsmith  found  he  had  got 
into  a  scrape,  and  seized  upon  Giardini  to  help  him  out  of  it. 
"  The  greatest  musical  performers,"  said  he,  dextrously  turning 
the  conversation,  "  have  but  small  emoluments  ;  Giardini,  I  am 
told,  does  not  get  above  seven  hundred  a  year."  "  That  is  indeed 
but  little  for  a  man  to  get,"  observed  Johnson,  "  who  does  best 
that  which  so  many  endeavor  to  do.  There  is  nothing,  I  think, 
in  which  the  power  of  art  is  shown  so  much  as  in  joying  on 


SUICIDE.  333 


the  fiddle.  In  all  other  things  we  can  do  something  at  first. 
Any  man  will  forge  a  bar  of  iron,  if  you  give  him  a  hammer ; 
not  so  well  as  a  smith,  but  tolerably.  A  man  will  saw  a  piece 
of  wood,  and  make  a  box,  though  a  clumsy  one ;  but  give  him  a 
fiddle  and  fiddlestick,  and  he  can  do  nothing." 

This,  upon  the  whole,  though  reported  by  the  one-sided  Bos- 
well,  is  a  tolerable  specimen  of  the  conversations  of  Goldsmith 
and  Johnson ;  the  former  heedless,  often  illogical,  always  on  the 
kind-hearted  side  of  the  question,  and  prone  to  redeem  himself 
by  lucky  hits  ;  the  latter  closely  argumentative,  studiously  sen- 
tentious, often  profound,  and  sometimes  laboriously  prosaic. 

They  had  an  argument  a  few  days  later  at  Mr.  Thrale's  table, 
on  the  subject  of  suicide.  "  Do  you  think,  sir,"  said  Boswell, 
"  that  all  who  commit  suicide  are  mad  ?"  "  Sir,"  replied  John- 
son, "  they  are  not  often  universally  disordered  in  their  intel- 
lects, but  one  passion  presses  so  upon  them  that  they  yield  to  it, 
and  commit  suicide,  as  a  passionate  man  will  stab  another.  I 
have  often  thought,"  added  he,  "  that  after  a  man  has  taken  the 
resolution  to  kill  himself,  it  is  not  courage  in  him  to  do  any  thing, 
however  desperate,  because  he  has  nothing  to  fear."  "  I  don't 
see  that,"  observed  Groldsmith.  '•  Nay,  but  my  dear  sir,"  rejoined 
Johnson,  "  why  should  you  not  see  what  every  one  else  does  ?" 
"  It  is,"  replied  Groldsmith,  "  for  fear  of  something  that  he  has 
resolved  to  kill  himself;  and  will  not  that  timid  disposition 
restrain  him  ?"  "  It  does  not  signify,"  pursued  Johnson,  "  that 
the  fear  of  something  made  him  resolve ;  it  is  upon  the  state  of 
his  mind,  after  the  resolution  is  taken,  that  I  argue.  Suppose 
a  man,  either  frOm  fear,  or  pride,  or  conscience,  or  whatever  mo- 
tive, has  resolved  to  kill  himself ;  when  once  the  resolution  is 
taken  he  has  nothing  to  fear.     He  may  then  go  and  take  the 


334  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


King  of  Prussia  by  the  nose  at  the  head  of  his  army.  He  can- 
not fear  the  rack  who  is  determined  to  kill  himself"  Boswell 
reports  no  more  of  the  discussion,  though  Goldsmith  might  have 
continued  it  with  advantage:  for  the  very  timid  disposition, 
which  through  fear  of  something,  was  impelling  the  man  to  com- 
mit suicide,  might  restrain  him  from  an  act,  involving  the  punish- 
ment of  the  rack,  more  terrible  to  him  than  death  itself 

It  is  to  be  regretted  in  all  these  reports  by  Boswell,  we  have 
scarcely  any  thing  but  the  remarks  of  Johnson  ;  it  is  only  by 
accident  that  he  now  and  then  gives  us  the  observations  of  others, 
when  they  are  necessary  to  explain  or  set  off  those  of  his  hero. 
"When  in  that jpresence^''  says  Miss  Burney,  "he  was  unobserv- 
ant, if  not  contemptuous  of  every  one  else.  In  truth,  when  he 
met  with  Dr.  Johnson,  he  commonly  forbore  even  answering  any 
thing  that  vv^as  said,  or  attending  to  any  thing  that  went  forward, 
lest  he  should  miss  the  smallest  sound  from  that  voice,  to  which 
he  paid  such  exclusive,  though  merited,  homage.  But  the  mo- 
ment that  voice  burst  forth,  the  attention  which  it  excited  on 
Mr.  Boswell,  amounted  almost  to  pain.  His  eyes  goggled  with 
eagerness  ;  he  leant  his  ear  almost  on  the  shoulder  of  the  doctor ; 
and  his  mouth  dropped  open  to  catch  every  syllable  that  might 
be  uttered ;  nay,  he  seemed  not  only  to  dread  losing  a  word,  but 
to  be  anxious  not  to  miss  a  breathing;  as  if  hoping  from  it 
latently,  or  mystically,  some  information." 

On  one  occasion  the  doctor  detected  Boswell,  or  Bozzy,  as  he 
called  him,  eavesdropping  behind  his  chair,  as  he  was  conversing 
with  Miss  Burney  at  Mr.  Thrale's  table.  "  What  are  you  doing 
there,  sir?"  cried  he,  turning  round  angrily,  and  clapping  his 
hand  upon  his  knee.     "  Go  to  the  table,  sir." 

Boswell  obeyed  with  an  air  of  aflfright  and  submission,  which 


THE   LAIRD  OF  AFFLECK.  335 


raised  a  smile  on  every  face.  Scarce  had  he  taken  his  seat,  how- 
ever, at  a  distance,  than  impatient  to  get  again  at  the  side  of 
Johnson,  he  rose  and  was  running  off  in  quest  of  something  to 
show  him,  when  the  doctor  roared  after  him  authoritatively, 
"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  sir  ?  Why  do  you  get  up  before  the 
cloth  is  removed  1  Come  back  to  your  place,  sir  ;" — and  the  ob- 
sequious ipaniel  did  as  he  was  commanded. — "  Running  about  in 
the  middle  of  meals  !"  muttered  the  doctor,  pursing  his  mouth 
at  the^|ime  time  to  restrain  his  rising  risibility. 

Bo^^ell  got  another  rebuff  from  Johnson,  which  would  have 
'■"  demolished  any  other  man.  He  had  been  teasing  him  with  many 
direct  questions,  such  as  What  did  you  do,  sir  ? — What  did  you 
say,  sir  ?  until  the  great  philologist  became  perfectly  enraged. 
"  I  will  not  be  put  to  the  question .'"  roared  he.  "  Don't  you 
consider,  sir,  that  these  are  not  the  manners  of  a  gentleman  ?  I 
will  not  be  baited  with  ivhat  and  why ;  What  is  this  1  What  is 
that  ?  Why  is  a  cow's  tail  long  ?  Why  is  a  fox's  tail  bushy  ?" 
'•  Why,  sir,"  replied  pil-garlick,  "  you  are  so  good  that  T  venture 
to  trouble  you."  "  Sir,"  replied  Johnson,  "  my  being  so  good  is 
no  reason  why  you  should  be  so  i//."  "  You  have  but  two  topics, 
sir ;"  exclaimed  he  on  another  occasion,  "  yourself  and  me,  and 
I  am  sick  of  both." 

Boswell's  inveterate  disposition  to  toad^  was  a  sore  cause  of 
mortification  to  his  father,  the  old  laird  of  Auchinleck,  (or 
Affleck.)  He  had  been  annoyed  by  his  extravagant  devotion  to 
Paoli,  but  then  he  was  something  of  a  military  hero  ;  but  this  tag- 
ging at  the  heels  of  Dr.  Johnson,  whom  he  considered  a  kind  of 
pedagogue,  set  his  Scotch  blood  in  a  ferment.  "  There's  nae  hope 
for  Jamie,  mon,"  said  he  to  a  friend  ;  "  Jamie  is  gaen  clean  gyte. 
What  do  you  think,  mon  1     He's  done  wi'  Paoli ;  he's  off  wi'  the 


336  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


land-louping  scoundrel  of  a  Corsican  ;  and  whose  tail  do  you 
think  he  has  pinn'd  himself  to  now,  mon  7  A  dominie,  mon  ;  an 
auld  dominie :  he  keeped  a  schule,  and  cau'd  it  an  acaadamy." 
We  shall  show  in  the  next  chapter  that  Jamie's  devotion  to 
the  dominie  did  not  go  unrewarded. 


-M<- 


CHANGES  IN  THE  LITERARY  CLUB.  337 


CHAPTER  XL. 

Changes  in  the  Literary  Club. — Johnson's  objection  to  Garrick. — Election  of 

Boswell. 

The  Literary  Club  (as  we  have  termed  the  club  in  Gerard-street, 
though  it  took  that  name  some  time  later)  had  now  been  in  exist- 
ence several  years.  Johnson  was  exceedingly  chary  at  first  of 
its  exclusiveness,  and  opposed  to  its  being  augmented  in  num- 
ber. Not  long  after  its  institution,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  was 
speaking  of  it  to  Grarrick.  "  I  like  it  much;"  said  little  David, 
briskly ;  "  I  think  I  shall  be  of  you."  "  When  Sir  Joshua  men- 
tioned this  to  Dr.  Johnson,"  says  Boswell,  "  he  was  much  dis- 
pleased with  the  actor's  conceit.  '  HeHl  he  of  us  V  growled  he. 
'  How  does  he  know  we  will  permit  him  %  The  first  duke  in  Eng- 
land has  no  right  to  hold  such  language.' " 

When  Sir  John  Hawkins  spoke  favorably  of  Garrick's  pre- 
tensions, "  Sir,"  replied  Johnson,  "  he  will  disturb  us  by  his 
bufi'oonery."  In  the  same  spirit  he  declared  to  Mr.  Thrale,  that 
if  Garrick  should  apply  for  admission,  he  would  black-ball  him. 
"  Who,  sir  ?"  exclaimed  Thrale,  with  surprise  ;  "  Mr.  Garrick — 
your  friend,  your  companion — black-ball  him  !"  "  Why,  sir," 
replied  Johnson,  "  I  love  my  little  David  dearly — better  than  all 
or  any  of  his  flatterers  do  ;  but  surely  one  ought  to  sit  in  a  society 
like  ours, 

^'  *  Unelbowed  by  a  gamester,  pimp,  or  player.'  " 
15 


338  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


The  exclusion  from  the  club  was  a  sore  mortification  to  Gar- 
rick,  though  he  bore  it  without  complaining.  He  could  not  help 
continually  to  ask  questions  about  it — what  was  going  on  there — 
whether  he  was  ever  the  subject  of  conversation.  By  degrees  the 
rigor  of  the  club  relaxed :  some  of  the  members  grew  negligent. 
Beauclerc  lost  his  right  of  membership  by  neglecting  to  attend. 
On  his  marriage,  however,  with  Lady  Diana  Spencer,  daughter 
of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  and  recently  divorced  from  Viscount 
Bolingbroke,  he  had  claimed  and  regained  his  seat  in  the  club. 
The  number  of  members  had  likewise  been  augmented.  The  pro- 
position to  increase  it  originated  with  Goldsmith.  "  It  would 
give,"  he  thought,  "  an  agreeable  variety  to  their  meetings ;  for 
there  can  be  nothing  new  amongst  us,"  said  he  ;  "  we  have  travelled 
over  each  other's  minds."  Johnson  was  piqued  at  the  suggestion. 
"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  you  have  not  travelled  over  my  mind,  I  promise 
you."  Sir  Joshua,  less  confident  in  the  exhaustless  fecundity  of 
his  mind,  felt  and  acknowledged  the  force  of  Goldsmith's  sugges- 
tion. Several  new  members,  therefore,  had  been  added  ;  the  first, 
to  his  great  joy,  was  David  Garrick.  Goldsmith,  who  was  now 
on  cordial  terms  with  him,  had  zealously  promoted  his  election, 
and  Johnson  had  given  it  his  warm  approbation.  Another  new 
member  was  Beauclerc's  friend,  Lord  Charlemont ;  and  a  still 
more  important  one  was  Mr.,  afterwards  Sir  William  Jones,  the 
famous  Orientalist,  at  that  time  a  young  lawyer  of  the  Temple 
and  a  distinguished  scholar. 

To  the  great  astonishment  of  the  club,  Johnson  now  proposed 
his  devoted  follower,  Boswell,  as  a  member.  He  did  it  in  a  note 
addressed  to  Goldsmith,  who  presided  on  the  evening  of  the  23d 
of  April.  The  nomination  was  seconded  by  Beauclerc.  Accord- 
ing to  the  rules  of  the  club,  the  ballot  would  take  place  at  the 


BOSWELL  AT  THE  CLUB.  339 


next  meeting  (on  the  30th) ;  there  was  an  intervening  week, 
therefore,  in  which  to  discuss  the  pretensions  of  the  candidate. 
We  may  easily  imagine  the  discussions  that  took  place.  Boswell 
had  made  himself  absurd  in  such  a  variety  of  ways,  that  the  very 
idea  of  his  admission  was  exceedingly  irksome  to  some  of  the  mem- 
bers. "  The  honor  of  being  elected  into  the  Turk's  Head  Club," 
said  the  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph,  "  is  not  inferior  to  that  of  being 
representative  of  Westminster  and  Surrey  :"  what  had  Boswell 
done  to  merit  such  an  honor  ?  What  chance  had  he  of  gaining 
it?  The  answer  was  simple:  he  had  been  the  persevering  wor- 
shipper, if  not  sycophant  of  Johnson.  The  great  lexicographer 
had  a  heart  to  be  won  by  apparent  affection  :  he  stood  forth  au- 
thoritatively in  support  of  his  vassal.  If  asked  to  state  the  merits 
of  the  candidate,  he  summed  them  up  in  an  indefinite  but  com- 
prehensive word  of  his  own  coining :  he  was  cluhahle.  He  more- 
over gave  significant  hints  that  if  Boswell  were  kept  out  he  should 
oppose  the  admission  of  any  other  candidate.  No  further  oppo- 
sition was  made  ;  in  fact  none  of  the  members  had  been  so  fasti- 
dious and  exclusive  in  regard  to  the  club  as  Johnson  himself; 
and  if  he  were  pleased,  they  were  easily  satisfied :  besides,  they 
knew  that  with  all  his  faults,  Boswell  was  a  cheerful  companion, 
and  possessed  lively  social  qualities. 

On  Friday,  when  the  ballot  was  to  take  place,  Beauclerc  gave 
a  dinner,  at  his  house  in  the  Adelphi,  where  Boswell  met  several 
of  the  members  who  were  favorable  to  his  election.  After  dinner 
the  latter  adjourned  to  the  club,  leaving  Boswell  in  company  with 
Lady  Di  Beauclerc  until  the  fate  of  his  election  should  be  known. 
He  sat,  he  says,  in  a  state  of  anxiety  which  even  the  charming 
conversation  of  Lady  Di  could  not  entirely  dissipate.  It  was  not 
long  before  tidings  were  brought  of  his  election,  and  he  was  con- 


340  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


ducted  to  the  place  of  meeting,  where,  beside  the  company  he  had  met 
at  dinner, Burke, Dr.  Nugent,  Garrick,  Goldsmith,  and  Mr.  William 
Jones  were  waiting  to  receive  him.  The  club,  notwithstanding  all 
its  learned  dignity  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  could  at  times  "unbend 
and  play  the  fool"  as  well  as  less  important  bodies.  Some  of 
its  jocose  conversations  have  at  times  leaked  out,  and  a  society 
in  which  Goldsmith  could  venture  to  sing  his  song  of  "  an  old 
woman  tossed  in  a  blanket,"  could  not  be  so  very  staid  in  its  gra- 
vity. We  may  suppose,  therefore,  the  jokes  that  had  been  passing 
among  the  members  while  awaiting  the  arrival  of  Boswell.  Beau- 
clerc  himself  could  not  have  repressed  his  disposition  for  a  sar- 
castic pleasantr}^  At  least  we  have  a  right  to  presume  all 
this  from  the    conduct  of   Doctor  Johnson  himself 

With  all  his  gravity  he  possessed  a  deep  fund  of  quiet  humor, 
and  felt  a  kind  of  whimsical  responsibility  to  protect  the  club  from 
the  absurd  propensities  of  the  very  questionable  associate  he  had 
thus  inflicted  on  them.  Rising,  therefore,  as  Boswell  entered,  he 
advanced  with  a  very  doctorial  air,  placed  himself  behind  a  chair, 
on  which  he  leaned  as  on  a  desk  or  pulpit,  and  then  delivered,  ex 
cathedra,  a  mock  solemn  charge,  pointing  out  the  conduct  expected 
from  him  as  a  good  member  of  the  club ;  what  he  was  to  do,  and 
especially  what  he  was  to  avoid  ;  including  in  the  latter,  no  doubt, 
all  those  petty,  prying,  questioning,  gossiping,  babbling  habits 
which  had  so  often  grieved  the  spirit  of  the  lexicographer.  It  is 
to  be  regretted  that  Boswell  has  never  thought  proper  to  note 
down  the  particulars  of  this  charge,  wdiich,  from  the  well  known 
characters  and  positions  of  the  parties,  might  have  furnished  a 
parallel  to  the  noted  charge  of  Launcelot  Gobbo  to  his  dog. 


DINNER  AT  DILLY'S.  341 


CHAPTER  ILL 

Dinner  at  Dilly's. — Conversations  on  natural  history. — Intermeddling  of  Bos- 
well. — Dispute  about  toleration  — Johnson's  rebuff  to  Goldsmith — his 
apology. — Man-worship. — Doctors  Major  and  Minor. — A  farewell  visit. 

A  FEW  days  after  the  serio-comic  scene  of  the  elevation  of  Bos- 
well  into  the  Literary  Club,  we  find  that  indefatigable  biographer 
giving  particulars  of  a  dinner  at  the  Billys,  booksellers,  in  the 
Poultry,  at  which  he  met  Goldsmith  and  Johnson,  with  several 
other  literary  characters.  His  anecdotes  of  the  conversation,  of 
course,  go  to  glorify  Dr.  Johnson ;  for,  as  he  observes  in  his 
biography,  "his  conversation  alone,  or  what  led  to  it,  or  was 
interwoven  with  it,  is  the  business  of  this  work."  Still  on  the 
present,  as  on  other  occasions,  he  gives  unintentional  and  perhaps 
unavoidable  gleams  of  Goldsmith's  good  sense,  which  show  that 
the  latter  only  wanted  a  less  prejudiced  and  more  impartial 
reporter,  to  put  down  the  charge  of  colloquial  incapacity  so  un- 
justly fixed  upon  him.  The  conversation  turned  upon  the 
natural  history  of  birds,  a  beautiful  subject,  on  which  the  poet, 
from  his  recent  studies,  his  habits  of  observation,  and  his  natu- 
ral tastes,  must  have  talked  with  instruction  and  feeling ;  yet, 
though  we  have  much  of  what  Johnson  said,  we  have  only  a 
casual  remark  or  two  of  Goldsmith.  One  was  on  the  migration 
of  swallows,  which  he  pronounced  partial ;  "  the  stronger  ones," 
said  he,  "  migrate,  the  others  do  not." 


342  OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 


Johnson  denied  to  the  brute  creation  the  faculty  of  reason. 
"  Birds,"  said  he,  "  build  by  instinct ;  they  never  improve  ;  they 
build  their  first  nest  as  well  as  any  one  they  ever  build."  "  Yet 
we  see,"  observed  Goldsmith,  "  if  you  take  away  a  bird's  nest 
with  the  eggs  in  it,  she  will  make  a  slighter  nest  and  lay  again." 
"  Sir,"  replied  Johnson,  "  that  is  because  at  first  she  has  full 
time,  and  makes  her  nest  deliberately.  In  the  case  you  mention, 
she  is  pressed  to  lay,  and  must,  therefore,  make  her  nest  quickly, 
and  consequently  it  will  be  slight."  "  The  nidification  of  birds," 
rejoined  Goldsmith,  "  is  what  is  least  known  in  natural  history, 
though  one  of  the  most  curious  things  in  it."  While  conver- 
sation was  going  on  in  this  placid,  agreeable  and  instructive 
manner,  the  eternal  meddler  and  busy-body  Boswell,  must  intrude, 
to  put  it  in  a  brawl.  The  Dillys  were  dissenters ;  two  of  their 
guests  were  dissenting  clergymen ;  another,  Mr.  Toplady,  was  a 
clergyman  of  the  established  church.  Johnson,  himself,  was  a 
zealous,  uncompromising  churchman.  None  but  a  marplot  like 
Boswell,  would  have  thought,  on  such  an  occasion,  and  in  such 
company,  to  broach  the  subject  of  religious  toleration ;  but,  as 
has  been  well  observed,  "  it  was  his  perverse  inclination  to  intro- 
duce subjects  that  he  hoped  would  produce  diflference  and  debate." 
In  the  present  instance  he  gained  his  point.  An  animated  dis- 
pute immediately  arose,  in  which,  according  to  Boswell's  report, 
Johnson  monopolized  the  greater  part  of  the  conversation ;  not 
always  treating  the  dissenting  clergymen  with  the  greatest 
courtesy,  and  even  once  wounding  the  feelings  of  the  mild  and 
amiable  Bennet  Langton  by  his  harshness. 

Goldsmith  mingled  a  little  in  the  dispute  and  with  some 
advantage,  but  was  cut  short  by  flat  contradictions  when  most  in 
the  right.     He  sat  for  a  time  silent  but  impatient  under  such 


JOHNSON'S  REBUFF.  343 


overbearing  dogmatism,  though  Boswell,  with  his  usual  misinter- 
pretation, attributes  his  "  restless  agitation  "  to  a  wish  to  get  in 
and  shine.  "  Finding  himself  excluded,"  continues  Boswell,  "  he 
had  taken  his  hat  to  go  away,  but  remained  for  a  time  with  it  in 
his  hand,  like  a  gamester,  who  at  the  end  of  a  long  night,  lingers 
for  a  little  while  to  see  if  he  can  have  a  favorable  opportunity  to 
finish  with  success."  Once  he  was  beginning  to  speak  when  he 
was  overpowered  by  the  loud  voice  of  Johnson,  who  was  at  the 
opposite  end  of  the  table,  and  did  not  perceive  his  attempt ; 
whereupon  he  threw  down,  as  it  were,  his  hat  and  his  argument, 
and,  darting  an  angry  glance  at  Johnson,  exclaimed  in  a  bitter 
tone,  "  Take  it?' 

Just  then  one  of  the  disputants  was  beginning  to  speak,  when 
Johnson  uttering  some  sound,  as  if  about  to  interrupt  him,  Grold- 
smith,  according  to  Boswell,  seized  the  opportunity  to  vent  his 
own  envy  and  spleen  under  pretext  of  supporting  another  person. 
"  Sir,"  said  he  to  Johnson,  "  the  gentleman  has  heard  you  pa- 
tiently for  an  hour ;  pray  allow  us  now  to  hear  him."  It  was  a 
reproof  in  the  lexicographer's  own  style,  and  he  may  have  felt 
that  he  merited  it ;  but  he  was  not  accustomed  to  be  reproved. 
"  Sir,"  said  he,  sternly,  "  I  was  not  interrupting  the  gentleman  ;  I 
was  only  giving  him  a  signal  of  my  attention.  Sir,  you  are  imjper- 
tinentP  Goldsmith  made  no  reply,  but  after  some  time  went  away, 
having  another  engagement. 

That  evening,  as  Boswell  was  on  the  way  with  Johnson  and 
Langton  to  the  club,  he  seized  the  occasion  to  make  some  dispar- 
aging remarks  on  Groldsmith,  which  he  thought  would  just  then  be 
acceptable  to  the  great  lexicographer.  "  It  was  a  pity,"  he  said, 
"  that  Goldsmith  would,  on  every  occasion,  endeavor  to  shine,  by 
which  he  so  often  exposed  himself"      Langton  contrasted  him 


344  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


with  Addison,  who,  content  with  the  fame  of  his  writings,  acknow- 
ledged himself  unfit  for  conversation ;  and  on  being  taxed  by  a  lady 
with  silence  in  company,  replied,  "  Madam,  I  have  but  nine  pence  in 
ready  money,  but  I  can  draw  for  a  thousand  pounds  "  To  this 
Boswell  rejoined,  that  Goldsmith  had  a  great  deal  of  gold  in  his 
cabinet,  but  was  always  taking  out  his  purse.  "  Yes,  sir,"  chuck- 
led Johnson,   "  and  that  so  often  an  empty  purse." 

By  the  time  Johnson  arrived  at  the  club,  however,  his  angry 
feelings  had  subsided,  and  his  native  generosity  and  sense  of  jus- 
tice had  got  the  uppermost.  He  found  Groldsmith  in  company 
with  Burke,  Grarrick,  and  other  members,  but  sitting  silent  and 
apart,  "brooding,"  as  Boswell  says,  "  over  the  reprimand  he  had  re- 
ceived." Johnson's  good  heart  yearned  towards  him ;  and  knowing 
his  placable  nature,  "  I'll  make  Goldsmith  forgive  me,"  whispered 
he  ;  then,  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Dr.  Goldsmith,"  said  he,  "  some- 
thing passed  to-day  where  you  and  I  dined — I  oskyour pardonP 
The  ire  of  the  poet  was  extinguished  in  an  instant,  and  his  grate- 
ful affection  for  the  magnanimous  though  sometimes  overbearing 
moralist,  rushed  to  his  heart.  "  It  must  be  much  from  you,  sir," 
said  he,  "  that  I  take  ill ! "  '■'-  And  so,"  adds  Boswell,  "  the  differ- 
ence was  over,  and  they  were  on  as  easy  terms  as  ever,  and  Gold- 
smith rattled  away  as  usual."  We  do  not  think  these  stories  tell 
to  the  poet's  disadvantage,  even  though  related  by  Boswell. 

Goldsmith,  with  all  his  modesty.  Could  not  be  ignorant  of  his 
proper  merit ;  and  must  have  felt  annoyed  at  times  at  being 
undervalued  and  elbowed  aside,  by  light-minded  or  dull  men,  in 
their  blind  and  exclusive  homage  to  the  literary  autocrat.  It 
was  a  fine  reproof  he  gave  to  Boswell  on  one  occasion,  for  talking 
of  Johnson  as  entitled  to  the  honor  of  exclusive  superiority. 
"  Sir,  you  are  for  making  a  monarchy  what  should  be  a  republic." 


DOCTORS  MAJOR  AND  MINOR.  345 


On  another  occasion,  when  he  was  conversing  in  company  with 
great  vivacity,  and  apparently  to  the  satisfaction  of  those  around 
him,  an  honest  Swiss  who  sat  near,  one  George  Michael  Moser, 
keeper  of  the  Royal  Academy,  perceiving  Dr.  Johnson  rolling 
himself  as  if  about  to  speak,  exclaimed,  "  Stay,  stay !  Toctor 
Shonson  is  going  to  say  something."  "  And  are  you  sure,  sir," 
replied  Goldsmith,  sharply,  "  that  you  can  comprehend  what  he 
says  ?" 

This  clever  rebuke,  which  gives  the  main  zest  to  the  anecdote,  is 
omitted  by  Boswell,  who  probably  did  not  perceive  the  point  of  it. 

He  relates  another  anecdote  of  the  kind  on  the  authority  of 
Johnson  himself.  The  latter  and  Goldsmith  were  one  evening 
in  company  with  the  Rev.  George  Graham,  a  master  of  Eton, 
who,  notwithstanding  the  sobriety  of  his  cloth,  had  got  intox- 
icated "  to  about  the  pitch  of  looking  at  one  man  and  talking  to 
another."  "  Doctor,"  cried  he  in  an  ecstasy  of  devotion  and  good- 
will, but  goggling  by  mistake  upon  Goldsmith,  "  I  should  be  glad 
to  see  you  at  Eton."  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  wait  upon  you,"  replied 
Goldsmith."  "  No,  no  !"  cried  the  other  eagerly;  "  'tis  not  you 
I  mean,  Doctor  Mino?',  'tis  Doctor  Mo/jw  there."  "  You  may 
easily  conceive,"  said  Johnson  in  relating  the  anecdote,  "  what 
effect  this  had  upon  Goldsmith,  who  was  irascible  as  a  hornet." 
The  only  comment,  however,  which  he  is  said  to  have  made,  par- 
takes more  of  quaint  and  dry  humor  than  bitterness :  '•  That 
Graham,"  said  he,  "  is  enough  to  make  one  commit  suicide."  What 
more  could  be  said  to  express  the  intolerable  nuisance  of  a  con- 
summate bm-e? 

We  have  now  given  the  last  scenes  between  Goldsmith  and 
Johnson  which  stand  recorded  by  Boswell.  The  latter  called  on 
the  poet  a  few  days  after  the  dinner  at  Dilly's,  to  take  leave  of 

15* 


346  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


him  prior  to  departing  for  Scotland ;  yet,  even  in  this  last  inter- 
view, he  contrives  to  get  up  a  charge  of  "  jealousy  and  envy." 
Goldsmith,  he  would  fain  persuade  us,  is  very  angry  that  Johnson 
is  going  to  travel  with  him  in  Scotland ;  and  endeavors  to  per- 
suade him  that  he  will  be  a  dead  weight  "  to  lug  along  through 
the  Highlands  and  Hebrides."  Any  one  else,  knowing  the  cha- 
racter and  habits  of  Johnson,  would  have  thought  the  same ;  and 
no  one  but  Boswell  would  have  supposed  his  office  of  bear-leader 
to  the  ursa  major  a  thing  to  be  envied.* 

*  One  of  Peter  Pindar's  (Dr.  Wolcot)  most  amusing  jeux  d'esprit  is  his 
congratulatory  epistle  to  Boswell  on  this  tour,  of  which  we  subjoin  a  few  lines. 

O  Boswell,  Bozzy,  Bruce,  whate'er  thy  name, 
Thou  mighty  shark  for  anecdote  and  fame  ; 
Thou  jackal,  leading  lion  Johnson  forth, 
To  eat  M'Pherson  'midst  his  native  north ; 
To  frighten  grave  professors  with  his  roar. 
And  shake  the  Hebrides  from  shore  to  shore. 
******** 

Bless'd  be  thy  labors,  most  adventurous  Bozzy, 

Bold  rival  of  Sir  John  and  Dame  Piozzi ; 

Heavens !  with  what  laurels  shall  thy  head  be  crown'd  ! 

A  grove,  a  forest,  shall  thy  ears  surround  ! 

Yes  !  whilst  the  Rambler  shall  a  comet  blaze. 

And  gild  a  world  of  darkness  with  his  rays. 

Thee,  too,  that  world  with  wonderment  shall  hail, 

A  lively,  bouncing  cracker  at  his  tail ! 


PROJECT  OF  A  DICTIONARY.  347 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

Project  of  a  Dictionary  of  Arts  and  Sciences. — Disappointment. — Negligent 
authorship. — ^Application  for  a  pension. — Beattie's  Essay  on  Truth. — Public 
adulation. — A  high-minded  rebuke. 

The  works  which  Groldsmith  had  still  in  hand  being  already  paid 
for,  and  the  money  gone,  some  new  scheme  must  be  devised  to 
provide  for  the  past  and  the  future — for  impending  debts  which 
threatened  to  crush  him,  and  expenses  which  were  continually 
increasing.  He  now  projected  a  work  of  greater  compass  than 
any  he  had  yet  undertaken ;  a  Dictionary  of  Arts  and  Sciences 
on  a  comprehensive  scale,  which  was  to  occupy  a  number  of  vo- 
lumes. For  this  he  received  promises  of  assistance  from  several 
powerful  hands.  Johnson  was  to  contribute  an  article  on  ethics  ; 
Burke,  an  abstract  of  his  Essay  on  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful, 
an  essay  on  the  Berkleyan  system  of  philosophy,  and  others  on 
political  science ;  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  an  essay  on  painting ; 
and  Garrick,  while  he  undertook  on  his  own  part  to  furnish  an 
essay  on  acting,  engaged  Dr.  Burney  to  contribute  an  article  on 
music.  Here  was  a  great  array  of  talent  positively  engaged, 
while  other  writers  of  eminence  were  to  be  sought  for  the  various 
departments  of  science.  Goldsmith  was  to  edit  the  whole.  An 
undertaking  of  this  kind,  while  it  did  not  incessantly  task  and 
exhaust  his  inventive  powers  by  original  composition,  would  give 


348  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


agreeable  and  profitable  exercise  to  his  taste  and  judgment  in 
selecting,  compiling,  and  arranging,  and  he  calculated  to  diflfuse 
over  the  whole  the  acknowledged  graces  of  his  style. 

He  drew  up  a  prospectus  of  the  plan,  which  is  said  by  Bishop 
Percy,  who  saw  it,  to  have  been  written  with  uncommon  ability, 
and  to  have  had  that  perspicuity  and  elegance  for  which  his 
writings  are  remarkable.  This  paper,  unfortunately,  is  no  longer 
in  existence. 

Goldsmith's  expectations,  always  sanguine  respecting  any  new 
plan,  were  raised  to  an  extraordinary  height  by  the  present  pro- 
ject; and  well  they  might  be,  when  we  consider  the  powerful 
coadjutors  already  pledged.  They  were  doomed,  however,  to 
complete  disappointment.  Davies,  the  bibliopole  of  Russell-street, 
lets  us  into  the  secret  of  this  failure.  "  The  booksellers,"  said 
he,  "  notwithstanding  they  had  a  very  good  opinion  of  his  abili- 
ties, yet  were  startled  at  the  bulk,,  importance,  and  expense  of  so 
great  an  undertaking,  the  fate  of  which  was  to  depend  upon  the 
industry  of  a  man  with  whose  indolence  of  temper  and  method 
of  procrastination  they  had  long  been  acquainted." 

Goldsmith  certainly  gave  reason  for  some  such  distrust  by 
the  heedlessness  with  which  he  conducted  his  literary  undertak- 
ings. Those  unfinished,  but  paid  for,  would  be  suspended  to 
make  way  for  some  job  that  was  to  provide  for  present  necessities. 
Those  thus  hastily  taken  up  would  be  as  hastily  executed,  and 
\  the  whole,  however  pressing,  would  be  shoved  aside  and  left  "  at 
loose  ends,"  on  some  sudden  call  to  social  enjoyment  or  recre- 
ation. 

Cradock  tells  us  that  on  one  occasion,  when  Goldsmith  was 
hard  at  work  on  his  Natural  History,  he  sent  to  Dr.  Percy  and 
himself,  entreating  them  to  finish  some  pages  of  his  work  which 


NATURAL  HISTORY.  349 


lay  upon  liis  table,  and  for  whicli  the  press  was  urgent,  he  being 
detained  by  other  engagements  at  Windsor.  They  met  by  appoint- 
ment at  his  chambers  in  the  Temple,  where  they  found  every  thing 
in  disorder,  and  costly  books  lying  scattered  about  on  the  tables 
and  on  the  floor ;  many  of  the  books  on  natural  history  which  he 
had  recently  consulted  lay  open  among  uncorrected  proof-sheets. 
The  subject  in  hand,  and  from  which  he  had  suddenly  broken  off, 
related  to  birds.  "  Do  you  know  any  thing  about  birds  ?"  asked 
Dr.  Percy,  smiling.  "  Not  an  atom,"  replied  Cradock  ;  "  do  you?" 
"  Not  I !  I  scarcely  know  a  goose  from  a  swan  :  however,  let  us 
try  what  we  can  do."  They  set  to  work  and  completed  their 
friendly  task.  Goldsmith,  however,  when  he  came  to  revise  it, 
made  such  alterations  that  they  could  neither  of  them  recognize 
their  own  share.  The  engagement  at  Windsor,  which  had  thus 
caused  Goldsmith  to  break  off  suddenly  from  his  multifarious 
engagements,  was  a  party  of  pleasure  with  some  literary  ladies. 
Another  anecdote  was  current,  illustrative  of  the  carelessness 
with  which  he  executed  works  requiring  accuracy  and  research. 
On  the  22d  of  June  he  had  received  payment  in  advance  for  a 
Grecian  History  in  two  volumes,  though  only  one  was  finished. 
As  he  was  pushing  on  doggedly  at  the  second  volume,  Gibbon,  the 
historian,  called  in.  "  You  are  the  man  of  all  others  I  wish  to 
see,"  cried  the  poet,  glad  to  be  saved  the  trouble  of  reference  to 
his  books.  "  What  was  the  name  of  that  Indian  king  who  gave 
Alexander  the  Great  so  much  trouble  ?"  •'  Montezuma,"  replied 
Gibbon,  sportively.  The  heedless  author  was  about  committing 
the  name  to  paper  without  reflection,  when  Gibbon  pretended  to 
recollect  himself,  and  gave  the  true  name,  Porus. 

This  story,  very  probably,  was  a  sportive  exaggeration ;  but 
it  was  a  multiplicity  of  anecdotes  like  this  and  the  preceding  one, 


1/ 


350  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


some  true  and  some  false,  which  had  impaired  the  confidence  of 
booksellers  in  Goldsmith,  as  a  man  to  be  relied  on  for  a  task 
requiring  wide  and  accurate  research,  and  close  and  long  con- 
tinued application.  The  project  of  the  Universal  Dictionary^ 
therefore,  met  with  no  encouragement,  and  fell  through. 

The  failure  of  this  scheme,  on  which  he  had  built  such  spacious 
hopes,  sank  deep  into  Goldsmith's  heart.  He  was  still  further 
grieved  and  mortified  by  the  failure  of  an  efi"ort  made  by  some  of 
his  friends  to  obtain  for  him  a  pension  from  government.  There  had 
been  a  talk  of  the  disposition  of  the  ministry  to  extend  the  bounty  of 
the  crown  to  distinguished  literary  men  in  pecuniary  difficulty,  with- 
out regard  to  their  political  creed :  when  the  merits  and  claims 
of  Goldsmith,  however,  were  laid  before  them,  they  met  no  favor. 
The  sin  of  sturdy  independence  lay  at  his  door.  He  had  refused 
to  become  a  riiinisterial  hack  when  ofiered  a  carte  blanche  by  Par- 
son Scott,  the  cabinet  emissary.  The  wondering  parson  had  left 
him  in  poverty  and  "  his  garret"  and  there  the  ministry  were 
disposed  to  sufier  him  to  remain. 

In  the  meantime  Dr.  Beattie  comes  out  with  his  Essay  on 
Truth,  and  all  the  orthodox  world  are  thrown  into  a  paroxysm  of 
contagious  ecstasy.  He  is  cried  up  as  the  great  champion  of 
Christianity  against  the  attacks  of  modern  philosophers  and  in- 
fidels ;  he  is  feted  and  flattered  in  every  way.  He  receives  at 
Oxford  the  honorary  degree  of  doctor  of  civil  law,  at  the  same 
time  with  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  The  king  sends  for  him,  praises 
his  Essay,  and  gives  him  a  pension  of  two  hundred  pounds. 

Goldsmith  feels  more  acutely  the  denial  of  a  pension  to  him- 
self when  one  has  thus  been  given  unsolicited  to  a  man  he  might 
without  vanity  consider  so  much  his  inferior.  He  was  not  one 
to  conceal  his  feelings,     "  Here's  such  a  stir,"  said  he  one  day  at 


A  HIGH-MINDED  REBUKE.  351 


Thrale's  table,  '•  about  a  fellow  that  has  written  one  book,  and  I 
have  written  so  many  ! " 

"Ah,  Doctor!"  exclaimed  Johnson,  in  one  of  his  caustic 
moods,  "  there  go  two  and  forty  sixpences,  you  know,  to  one 
guinea."  This  is  one  of  the  cuts  at  poor  Groldsmith  in  which 
Johnson  went  contrary  to  head  and  heart  in  his  love  for  saying 
what  is  called  a  "good  thing."  No  one  knew  better  than  him- 
self the  comparative  superiority  of  the  writings  of  Goldsmith ; 
but  the  jingle  of  the  sixpences  and  the  guinea  was  not  to  be 
resisted. 

"  Every  body,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Thrale,  "  loves  Dr.  Beattie, 
but  Goldsmith,  who  says  he  cannot  bear  the  sight  of  so  much  ap- 
plause as  they  all  bestow  upon  him.  Did  he  not  tell  us  so  him- 
self no  one  would  believe  he  was  so  exceedingly  ill-natured." 

He  told  them  so  himself  because  he  was  too  open  and  unre- 
served to  disguise  his  feelings,  and  because  he  really  considered 
the  praise  lavished  on  Beattie  extravagant,  as  in  fact  it  was.  It 
was  all,  of  course,  set  down  to  sheer  envy  and  uncharitableness. 
To  add  to  his  annoyance,  he  found  his  friend,  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, joining  in  the  universal  adulation.  He  had  painted  a  full 
length  portrait  of  Beattie  decked  in  the  doctor's  robes  in  which 
he  had  figured  at  Oxford,  with  the  Essay  on  Truth  under  his  arm 
and  the  angel  of  truth  at  his  side,  while  Voltaire  figured  as  one 
of  the  demons  of  infidelity,  sophistry,  and  falsehood,  driven  into 
utter  darkness. 

Goldsmith  had  known  Yoltaire  in  early  life  ;  he  had  been  his 
admirer  and  his  biographer  ;  he  grieved  to  find  him  receiving  such 
an  insult  from  the  classic  pencil  of  his  friend.  "  It  is  unworthy 
of  you,"  said  he  to  Sir  Joshua,  "  to  debase  so  high  a  genius  as 
Voltaire  before  so  mean  a  writer  as  Beattie.     Beattie  and  his 


352  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


book  will  be  forgotten  in  ten  years,  while  Yoltaire's  fame  will  last 
for  ever.  Take  care  it  does  not  perpetuate  this  picture  to  the 
shame  of  such  a  man  as  you."  This  noble  and  high-minded  re- 
buke is  the  only  instance  on  record  of  any  reproachful  words 
between  the  poet  and  the  painter ;  and  we  are  happy  to  find  that 
it  did  not  destroy  the  harmony  of  their  intercourse. 


TOIL  WITHOUT  HOPE.  353 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

Toil  without  hope. — The  Poet  in  the  green-room — in  the  flower  garden — 
at  Vauxhall — dissipation  without  gayety. — Cradock  in  town — friendly 
sympathj' — a  parting  scene — an  invitation  to  pleasure. 

Thwarted  in  the  plans  and  disappointed  in  the  hopes  which  had 
recently  cheered  and  animated  him,  Groldsmith  found  the  labor 
at  his  half-finished  tasks  doubly  irksome  from  the  consciousness 
that  the  completion  of  them  could  not  relieve  him  from  his 
pecuniary  embarrassments.  His  impaired  health,  also,  rendered 
him  less  capable  than  formerly  of  sedentary  application,  and  con- 
tinual perplexities  disturbed  the  flow  of  thought  necessary  for 
original  composition.  He  lost  his  usual  gayety  and  good-humor, 
and  became,  at  times,  peevish  and  irritable.  Too  proud  of  spirit 
to  seek  sympathy  or  relief  from  his  friends,  for  the  pecuniary 
difficulties  he  had  brought  upon  himself  by  his  errors  and  extra- 
vagance ;  and  unwilling,  perhaps,  to  make  known  their  amount, 
he  buried  his  cares  and  anxieties  in  his  own  bosom,  and  endea- 
vored in  company  to  keep  up  his  usual  air  of  gayety  and  uncon- 
cern. This  gave  his  conduct  an  appearance  of  fitfulness  and 
caprice,  varying  suddenly  from  moodiness  to  mirth,  and  from 
silent  gravity  to  shallow  laughter ;  causing  surprise  and  ridicule 
in  those  who  were  not  aware  of  the  sickness  of  heart  whicli  lay 
beneath. 


354  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


His  poetical  reputation,  too,  was  sometimes  a  disadvantage 
to  him ;  it  drew  upon  him  a  notoriety  which  he  was  not  always 
in  the  mood  or  the  vein  to  act  up  to.  "  Good  heavens,  Mr. 
Foote,"  exclaimed  an  actress  at  the  Haymarket  theatre,  "  what  a 
humdrum  kind  of  man  Dr.  Goldsmith  appears  in  our  green-room 
compared  with  the  figure  he  makes  in  his  poetry  !"  "  The  reason 
of  that,  madam,"  replied  Foote,  "  is  because  the  muses  are  better 
company  than  the  players." 

Beauclerc's  letters  to  his  friend.  Lord  Charlemont,  who  was 
absent  in  Ireland,  give  us  now  and  then  an  indication  of  the 
whereabout  of  the  poet  during  the  present  year.  "  I  have  been 
but  once  to  the  club  since  you  left  England,"  writes  he ;  "  we 
were  entertained,  as  usual,  with  Goldsmith's  absurdity."  With 
Beauclerc  every  thing  was  absurd  that  was  not  polished  and 
pointed.  In  another  letter  he  threatens,  unless  Lord  Charle- 
mont returns  to  England,  to  bring  over  the  whole  club,  and  let 
them  loose  upon  him  to  drive  him  home  by  their  peculiar  habits 
of  annoyance — Johnson  shall  spoil  his  books  ;  Goldsmith  shall 
pull  his  flowers ;  and  last,  and  most  intolerable  of  all,  Boswell 
shall — talk  to  him.  It  would  appear  that  the  poet,  who  had  a 
passion  for  flowers,  was  apt  to  pass  much  of  his  time  in  the 
garden  when  on  a  visit  to  a  country  seat,  much  to  the  detriment 
of  the  flower-beds  and  the  despair  of  the  gardener. 

The  summer  wore  heavily  away  with  Goldsmith.  He  had 
not  his  usual  solace  of  a  country  retreat ;  his  health  was  impaired 
and  his  spirits  depressed.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  who  perceived 
the  state  of  his  mind,  kindly  gave  him  much  of  his  company.  In 
the  course  of  their  interchange  of  thought,  Goldsmith  suggested 
to  him  the  story  of  Ugolino,  as  a  subject  for  his  pencil.  The 
painting  founded  on  it  remains  a  memento  of  their  friendship. 


DISSIPATION  WITHOUT  GAYETY.  355 


On  the  4th  of  August  we  find  them  together  at  Yauxhall ; 
at  that  time  a  place  in  high  vogue,  and  which  had  once  been  to 
Goldsmith  a  scene  of  oriental  splendor  and  delight.  We  have, 
in  fact,  in  the  Citizen  of  the  World,  a  picture  of  it  as  it  had  struck 
him  in  former  years  and  in  his  happier  moods.  "  Upon  entering 
the  gardens,"  says  the  Chinese  philosopher,  "  I  found  every  sense 
occupied  with  more  than  expected  pleasure ;  the  lights  every 
where  glimmering  through  the  scarcely-moving  trees ;  the  full- 
bodied  concert  bursting  on  the  stillness  of  the  night ;  the  natural 
concert  of  the  birds  in  the  more  retired  part  of  the  grove,  vieing 
with  that  which  was  formed  by  art ;  the  company  gayly  dressed, 
looking  satisfaction,  and  the  tables  spread  with  various  delicacies, 
all  conspired  to  fill  my  imagination  with  the  visionary  happiness 
of  the  Arabian  lawgiver,  and  lifted  nie  into  an  ecstasy  of  admira- 
tion."* 

Every  thing  now,  however,  is  seen  with  different  eyes ;  with 
him  it  is  dissipation  without  pleasure ;  and  he  finds  it  impossible 
any  longer,  by  mingling  in  the  gay  and  giddy  throng  of  apparently 
prosperous  and  happy  beings,  to  escape  from  the  carking  care 
which  is  clinging  to  his  heart. 

His  kind  friend,  Cradock,  came  up  to  town  towards  autumn, 
when  all  the  fashionable  world  was  in  the  country,  to  give  his 
wife  the  benefit  of  a  skilful  dentist.  He  took  lodgings  in  Nor- 
folk-street, to  be  in  Goldsmith's  neighborhood,  and  passed  most 
of  his  mornings  with  him.  "  I  found  him,"  he  says,  "  much 
altered  and  at  times  very  low.  He  wished  me  to  look  over  and 
revise  some  of  his  works ;  but,  with  a  select  friend  or  two,  I  was 
more  pressing  that  he  should  publish  by  subscription  his  two 
celebrated  poems  of  the  Traveller  and  the  Deserted  Village,  with 

*  Citizen  of  the  World.     Let.  LXXI. 


356  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


notes."  The  idea  of  Cradock  was,  that  the  subscription  would 
enable  wealthy  persons,  favorable  to  Groldsmith,  to  contribute  to 
his  pecuniary  relief  without  wounding  his  pride.  "  Goldsmith," 
said  he,  "  readily  gave  up  to  me  his  private  copies,  and  said,  '  Pray 
do  what  you  please  with  them.'  But  whilst  he  sat  near  me,  he 
rather  submitted  to  than  encouraged  my  zealous  proceedings. 

"  I  one  morning  called  upon  him,  however,  and  found  him 
infinitely  better  than  I  had  expected ;  and,  in  a  kind  of  exulting 
style,  he  exclaimed,  '  Here  are  some  of  the  best  of  my  prose  writ- 
ings ;  I  have  been  hard  at  ivork  since  'tnidnight^  and  I  desire  you 
to  examine  them.'  '  These,'  said  I,  '  are  excellent  indeed.'  '  They 
are,'  replied  he,  '  intended  as  an  introduction  to  a  body  of  arts 
and  sciences.'  " 

Poor  Groldsmith  was,  in  fact,  gathering  together  the  frag- 
ments of  his  shipwreck ;  the  notes  and  essays,  and  memoranda 
collected  for  his  dictionary,  and  proposed  to  found  on  them  a 
work  in  two  volumes,  to  be  entitled  "  A  Survey  of  Experimental 
Philosophy." 

The  plan  of  the  subscription  came  to  nothing,  and  the  pro- 
jected survey  never  was  executed.  The  head  might  yet  devise, 
but  the  heart  was  failing  him ;  his  talent  at  hoping,  which  gave 
him  buoyancy  to  carry  out  his  enterprises,  was  almost  at  an  end. 

Cradock's  farewell  scene  with  him  is  told  in  a  simple  but  touch- 
ing manner. 

"  The  day  before  I  was  to  set  out  for  Leicestershire,  I  insisted 
upon  his  dining  with  us.  He  replied,  '  I  will,  but  on  one  condi- 
tion, that  you  will  not  ask  me  to  eat  any  thing.'  '  Nay,'  said  I, 
'  this  answer  is  absolutely  unkind,  for  I  had  hoped,  as  we  are 
supplied  from  the  Crown  and  Anchor,  that  you  would  have  named 
something  you  might  have  relished.'     'Well,' was  the  reply, 'if 


A  PARTING  SCENE.  357 


you  will  but  explain  it  to  Mrs.  Cradock,  I  will  certainly  wait 
upon  you.' 

"  The  doctor  found,  as  usual,  at  my  apartments,  newspapers 
and  pamphlets,  and  with  a  pen  and  ink  he  amused  himself  as  well 
as  he  could.  I  had  ordered  from  the  tavern  some  fish,  a  roasted 
joint  of  lamb,  and  a  tart ;  and  the  doctor  either  sat  down  or 
walked  about  just  as  he  pleased.  After  dinner  he  took  some 
wine  with  biscuits  ;  but  I  was  obliged  soon  to  leave  him  for  a  while, 
as  I  had  matters  to  settle  prior  to  my  next  day's  journey.  On  my 
return  coffee  was  ready,  and  the  doctor  appeared  more  cheerful 
(for  Mrs.  Cradock  was  always  rather  a  favorite  with  him),  and  in 
the  evening  he  endeavored  to  talk  and  remark  as  usual,  but  all 
was  force.  He  stayed  till  midnight,  and  I  insisted  on  seeing  him 
safe  home,  and  we  most  cordially  shook  hands  at  the  Temple  gate." 
Cradock  little  thought  that  this  was  to  be  their  final  parting. 
He  looked  back  to  it  with  mournful  recollections  in  after  years, 
and  lamented  that  he  had  not  remained  longer  in  town  at  every 
inconvenience,  to  solace  the  poor  broken-spirited  poet. 

The  latter  continued  in  town  all  the  autumn.  At  the  open- 
ing of  the  Opera  House,  on  the  20th  of  November,  Mrs.  Yates, 
an  actress  whom  he  held  in  great  esteem,  delivered  a  poetical 
exordium  of  his  composition.  Beauclerc,  in  a  letter  to  Lord 
Charlemont,  pronounced  it  very  good,  and  predicted  that  it  would 
soon  be  in  all  the  papers.  It  does  not  appear,  however,  to  have 
been  ever  published.  In  his  fitful  state  of  mind  Goldsmith  may 
have  taken  no  care  about  it,  and  thus  it  has  been  lost  to  the 
world,  although  it  was  received  with  great  applause  by  a  crowded 
and  brilliant  audience. 

A  gleam  of  sunshine  breaks  through  the  gloom  that  was  ga- 
thering over  the  poet.     Towards  the  end  of  the  year  he  receives 


358  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


another  Christmas  invitation  to  Barton.  A  country  Christmas  ! 
with  all  the  cordiality  of  the  fireside  circle,  and  the  joyous  revelry 
of  the  oaken  hall — what  a  contrast  to  the  loneliness  of  a  bache- 
lor's chambers  in  the  Temple  !  It  is  not  to  be  resisted.  But 
how  is  poor  Goldsmith  to  raise  the  ways  and  means  ?  His  purse 
is  empty ;  his  booksellers  are  already  in  advance  to  him.  As  a 
last  resource,  he  applies  to  Garrick.  Their  mutual  intimacy  at 
Barton  may  have  suggested  him  as  an  alternative.  The  old  loan 
of  forty  pounds  has  never  been  paid  ;  and  Newbery's  note,  pledged 
as  a  security,  has  never  been  taken  up.  An  additional  loan  of 
sixty  pounds  is  now  asked  for,  thus  increasing  the  loan  to  one 
hundred ;  to  insure  the  payment,  he  now  offers,  besides  New- 
bery's note,  the  transfer  of  the  comedy  of  the  Good-natured  Man 
to  Drury  Lane,  with  such  alterations  as  Garrick  may  suggest. 
Garrick,  in  reply,  evades  the  offer  of  the  altered  comedy,  alludes 
significantly  to  a  new  one  which  Goldsmith  had  talked  of  writing 
for  him,  and  offers  to  furnish  the  money  required  on  his  own 
acceptance. 

The  reply  of  Goldsmith  bespeaks  a  heart  brimful  of  gratitude 
and  overflowing  with  fond  anticipations  of  Barton  and  the  smiles 
of  its  fair  residents.  "  My  dear  friend,"  writes  he,  "  I  thank  you. 
I  wish  I  could  do  something  to  serve  you.  I  shall  have  a  comedy 
for  you  in  a  season,  or  two  at  farthest,  that  I  believe  will  be 
worth  your  acceptance,  for  I  fancy  I  will  make  it  a  fine  thing. 
You  shall  have  the  refusal.  *  *  *  *  I  ^iH  draw  upon  you 
one  month  after  date  for  sixty  pounds,  and  your  acceptance  will 
be  ready  money,  jpart  of  tvhich  Iivant  to  go  doivn  to  Barton  tvith. 
May  God  preserve  my  honest  little  man,  for  he  has  my  heart. 
Ever,  "  Oliver  Goldsmith." 


CHRISTMAS  AT   BARTON.  359 


And  having  thus  scrambled  together  a  little  pocket-money,  by 
hard  contrivance,  poor  Groldsmith  turns  his  back  upon  care  and 
trouble,  and  Temple  quarters,  to  forget  for  a  time  his  desolate 
bachelorhood  in  the  family  circle  and  a  Christmas  fireside  at 
Barton. 


360  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

A  return  to  drudgery — forced  gayety — retreat  to  the  country — the  poem  of 
Retaliation. — Portrait  of  Garrick — of  Goldsmith — of  Reynolds. — Illness  of 
the  Poet — his  death — grief  of  his  friends. — A  last  word  respecting  the 
Jessamy  Bride. 

The  Barton  festivities  are  over ;  Christmas,  with  all  its  home- 
felt  revelry  of  the  heart,  has  passed  like  a  dream ;  the  Jessamy 
Bride  has  beamed  her  last  smile  upon  the  poor  poet,  and  the 
early  part  of  1774  finds  him  in  his  now  dreary  bachelor  abode  in 
the  Temple,  toiling  fitfully  and  hopelessly  at  a  multiplicity  of 
tasks.  His  Animated  Nature,  so  long  delayed,  so  often  inter- 
rupted, is  at  length  announced  for  publication,  though  it  has  yet 
to  receive  a  few  finishing  touches.  He  is  preparing  a  third  His- 
tory of  England,  to  be  compressed  and  condensed  in  one  volume, 
for  the  use  of  schools.  He  is  revising  his  Inquiry  into  Polite 
Learning,  for  which  he  receives  the  pittance  of  five  guineas,  much 
needed  in  his  present  scantiness  of  purse ;  he  is  arranging  his 
Survey  of  Experimental  Philosophy,  and  he  is  translating  the 
Comic  Romance  of  Scarron.  Such  is  a  part  of  the  various 
labors  of  a  drudging,  depressing  kind,  by  which  his  head  is 
made  wrong  and  his  heart  faint.  "  If  there  is  a  mental  drudg- 
ery," says  Sir  Walter  Scott,  "  which  lowers  the  spirits  and  lace- 
rates the  nerves,  like  the  toil  of  a  slave,  it  is  that  which  is  exacted 


FORCED  GAYETY.  361 


by  literary  composition,  when  the  heart  is  not  in  unison  with  the 
work  upon  which  the  head  is  employed.  Add  to  the  unhappy 
author's  task  sickness,  sorrow,  or  the  pressure  of  unfavorable  cir- 
cumstances, and  the  labor  of  the  bondsman  becomes  light  in 
comparison."  Goldsmith  again  makes  an  effort  to  rally  his 
spirits  by  going  into  gay  society.  "Our^islub,"  writes  Beai- 
clerc  to  Charlemont,  on  the  12th  of  Februar^^P^^^l^s  dwin- 
dled away  to  nothing.  Sir  Joshua  and  Goldsmith  have  got  into 
such  a  round  of  pleasures  that  they  have  no  time."  This  shows 
how  little  Beauclerc  was  the  companion  of  the  poet's  mind,  or 
could  judge  of  him  below  the  surface.  Reynolds,  the  kind  parti- 
cipator in  joyless  dissipation,  could  have  told  a  different  story  of 
his  companion's  heart-sick  gayetj'-. 

In  this  forced  mood  Goldsmith  gave  entertainments  in  his 
chambers  in  the  Temple  ;  the  last  of  which  was  a  dinner  to  John- 
son, Reynolds,  and  others  of  his  intimates,  who  partook  with 
sorrow  and  reluctance  of  his  imprudent  hospitality.  The  first 
course  vexed  them  by  its  needless  profusion.  When  a  second, 
equally  extravagant,  was  served  up,  Johnson  and  Reynolds  de- 
clined to  partake  of  it ;  the  rest  of  the  company,  understanding 
their  motives,  followed  their  example,  and  the  dishes  went  from 
the  table  untasted.  Goldsmith  felt  sensibly  this  silent  and  well- 
intended  rebuke. 

The  gayeties  of  society,  however,  cannot  medicine  for  any 
length  of  time  a  mind  diseased.  Wearied  by  the  distractions  and 
harassed  by  the  expenses  of  a  town  life,  which  he  had  not  the 
discretion  to  regulate.  Goldsmith  took  the  resolution  too  tardily 
adopted,  of  retiring  to  the  serene  quiet,  and  cheap  and  health- 
ful pleasures  of  the  country,  and  of  passing  only  two  months  of 
the  year  in  London.     He  accordingly  made  arrangements  to  sell 

16 


362  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


his  right  in  the  Temple  chambers,  and  in  the  month  of  March 
retired  to  his  country  quarters  at  Hyde,  there  to  devote  himself 
to  toil.  At  this  dispirited  juncture  when  inspiration  seemed  to 
be  at  an  end,  and  the  poetic  fire  extinguished,  a  spark  fell  on  his 
combustible  imagination  and  set  it  in  a  blaze. 

He  belonged  to  a  temporary  association  of  men  of  talent, 
some  of  them  members  of  the  Literary  Club,  who  dined  together 
occasionally  at  the  St.  James's  Coffee-house.  At  these  dinners, 
as  usual,  he  was  one  of  the  last  to  arrive.  On  one  occasion, 
when  he  was  more  dilatory  than  usual,  a  whim  seized  the  com- 
pany to  write  epitaphs  on  him,  as  "  The  late  Dr.  Goldsmith,"  and 
several  were  thrown  off  in  a  playful  vein,  hitting  off  his  pecu- 
liarities. The  only  one  extant  was  written  by  Garrick,  and  has 
been  preserved,  very  probably,  by  its  pungency : 

"  Here  lies  poet  Goldsmith,  for  shortness  called  Noll, 
Who  wrote  like  an  angel,  but  talked  like  poor  poll." 

Goldsmith  did  not  relish  the  sarcasm,  especially  as  coming 
from  such  a  quarter.  He  was  not  very  ready  at  repartee ;  but 
he  took  his  time,  and  in  the  interval  of  his  various  tasks,  con- 
cocted a  series  of  epigrammatic  sketches,  under  the  title  of 
Retaliation,  in  which  the  characters  of  his  distinguished  inti- 
mates were  admirably  hit  off,  with  a  mixture  of  generous  praise 
and  good-humored  raillery.  In  fact  the  poem  for  its  graphic 
truth;  its  nice  discrimination;  its  terse  good  sense,  and  its 
shrewd  knowledge  of  the  world,  must  have  electrified  the  club 
almost  as  much  as  the  first  appearance  of  The  Traveller,  and  let 
them  still  deeper  into  the  character  and  talents  of  the  man  they 
had  been  accustomed  to  consider  as  their  butt.     Retaliation,  in 


DAVID  GARRICK.  363 


a  word,  closed  his  accounts  with  the  club,  and  balanced  all  his 
previous  deficiencies. 

The  portrait  of  David  Garrick,  is  one  of  the  most  elaborate 
in  the  poem.  When  the  poet  came  to  touch  it  off,  he  had  some 
lurking  piques  to  gratify,  which  the  recent  attack  had  revived. 
He  may  have  forgotten  David's  cavalier  treatment  of  him,  in  the 
early  days  of  his  comparative  obscurity ;  he  may  have  forgiven 
his  refusal  of  his  plays ;  but  Garrick  had  been  capricious  in  his 
conduct  in  the  times  of  their  recent  intercourse:  sometimes 
treating  him  with  gross  familiarity,  at  other  times  affecting  dig- 
nity and  reserve,  and  assuming  airs  of  superiority ;  frequently 
he  had  been  facetious  and  witty  in  company  at  his  expense,  and 
lastly  he  had  been  guilty  of  the  couplet  just  quoted.  Goldsmith, 
therefore,  touched  off  the  lights  and  shadows  of  his  character 
with  a  free  hand,  and,  at  the  same  time,  gave  a  side  hit  at  his  old 
rival,  Kelly,  and  his  critical  persecutor,  Kenrick,  in*making  them 
sycophantic  satellites  of  the  actor.  Goldsmith,  however,  was 
void  of  gall  even  in  his  revenge,  and  his  very  satire  was  more 
humorous  than  caustic : 

"  Here  lies  David  Garrick,  describe  him  who  can. 
An  abridgment  of  all  that  was  pleasant  in  man  ; 
As  an  actor,  confess'd  without  rival  to  shine  ; 
As  a  wit,  if  not  first,  in  the  very  first  line : 
Yet,  with  talents  like  these,  and  an  excellent  heart. 
The  man  had  his  failings,  a  dupe  to  his  art. 
Like  an  ill-judging  beauty,  his  colors  he  spread. 
And  beplaster'd  with  rouge  his  own  natural  red. 
On  the  stage  he  was  natural,  simple,  affecting  ; 
'Twas  only  that  when  he  was  off  he  was  acting. 
With  no  reason  on  earth  to  go  out  of  his  way, 
He  turn'd  and  he  varied  full  ten  times  a  day : 


364  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


Though  secure  of  our  hearts,  yet  confoundedly  sick 

If  they  were  not  his  own  by  finessing  and  trick : 

He  cast  off  his  friends  as  a  huntsman  his  pack, 

For  he  knew,  when  he  pleased,  he  could  whistle  them  back. 

Of  praise  a  mere  glutton,  he  swallow'd  what  came. 

And  the  puff  of  a  dunce  he  mistook  it  for  fame  ; 

Till  his  relish,  grown  callous  almost  to  disease. 

Who  pepper'd  the  highest  was  surest  to  please. 

But  let  us  be  candid,  and  speak  out  our  mind. 

If  dunces  applauded,  he  paid  them  in  kind. 

Ye  Kenricks,  ye  Kellys,  and  Woodfalls  so  grave. 

What  a  commerce  was  yours,  while  you  got  and  you  gave  ! 

How  did  Grub-street  re-echo  the  shouts  that  you  raised. 

While  he  was  be-Rosciused  and  you  were  be-praised  ! 

But  peace  to  his  spirit,  wherever  it  flies. 

To  act  as  an  angel  and  mix  with  the  skies : 

Those  poets  who  owe  their  best  fame  to  his  skill. 

Shall  still  be  his  flatterers,  go  where  he  will ; 

Old  Shakspeare  receive  him  with  praise  and  with  love, 

And  Beaumonts  and  Bens  be  his  Kellys  above." 

This  portion  of  Eetaliation  soon  brought  a  retort  from  Gar- 
rick,  which  we  insert,  as  giving  something  of  a  likeness  of  Gold- 
smith, though  in  broad  caricature : 

"  Here,  Hermes,  says  Jove,  who  with  nectar  was  mellow, 
Go  fetch  me  some  clay — I  will  make  an  odd  fellow : 
Right  and  wrong  shall  be  jumbled,  much  gold  and  some  dross, 
Without  cause  be  he  pleased,  without  cause  be  he  cross  ; 
Be  sure,  as  I  work,  to  throw  in  contradictions, 
A  great  love  of  truth,  yet  a  mind  turn'd  to  fictions  ; 
Now  mix  these  ingredients,  which,  warm'd  in  the  baking, 
Turn'd  to  learning  and  gaming,  religion  and  raking. 


CARD-PLAYING.  365 


With  the  love  of  a  wench  let  his  writings  be  chaste  ; 

Tip  his  tongue  with  strange  matter,  his  lips  with  fine  taste  ; 

That  the  rake  and  the  poet  o'er  all  may  prevail. 

Set  fire  to  the  head  and  set  fire  to  the  tail ; 

For  the  joy  of  each  sex  on  the  world  I'll  bestow  it. 

This  scholar,  rake.  Christian,  dupe,  gamester,  and  poet. 

Though  a  mixture  so  odd,  he  shall  merit  great  fame. 

And  among  brother  mortals  be  Goldsmith  his  name  ; 

When  on  earth  this  strange  meteor  no  more  shall  appear. 

You,  Hermes,  shall  fetch  him,  to  make  us  sport  here." 

The  charge  of  raking,  so  repeatedly  advanced  in  the  foregoing 
lines,  must  be  considered  a  sportive  one,  founded,  perhaps,  on  an 
incident  or  two  within  G-arrick's  knowledge,  but  not  borne  out 
by  the  course  of  Goldsmith's  life.  He  seems  to  have  had  a  ten- 
der sentiment  for  the  sex,  but  perfectly  free  from  libertinism. 
Neither  was  he  an  habitual  gamester.  The  strictest  scrutiny 
has  detected  no  settled  vice  of  the  kind.  He  was  fond  of  a  game 
of  cards,  but  an  unskilful  and  careless  player.  Cards  in  those 
days  were  universally  introduced  into  society.  High  play  was, 
in  fact,  a  fashionable  amusement,  as  at  one  time  was  deep  drink- 
ing ;  and  a  man  might  occasionally  lose  large  sums,  and  be  be- 
guiled into  deep  potations,  without  incurring  the  character  of  a 
gamester  or  a  drunkard.  Poor  Goldsmith,  on  his  advent  into 
high  society,  assumed  fine  notions  with  fine  clothes ;  he  was 
thrown  occasionally  among  high  players,  men  of  fortune  who 
could  sport  their  cool  hundreds  as  carelessly  as  his  early  com- 
rades at  Ballymahon  could  their  half-crowns.  Being  at  all 
times  magnificent  in  money  matters,  he  may  have  played  with 
them  in  their  own  way,  without  considering  that  what  was  sport 
to  them  to  him  was  ruin.     Indeed  part  of  his  financial  embar- 


366  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


rassments  may  have  arisen  from  losses  of  the  kind,  incurred  in- 
advertently, not  in  the  indulgence  of  a  habit.  "  I  do  not  believe 
Goldsmith  to  have  deserved  the  name  of  gamester,"  said  one  of 
his  contemporaries  ;  "  he  liked  cards  very  well,  as  other  people  do, 
and  lost  and  won  occasionally ;  but  as  far  as  I  saw  or  heard,  and 
I  had  many  opportunities  of  hearing,  never  any  considerable  sum. 
If  he  gamed  with  any  one,  it  was  probably  with  Beauclerc,  but  I 
do  not  know  that  such  was  the  case." 

Retaliation,  as  we  have  already  observed,  was  thrown  off  in 
parts,  at  intervals,  and  was  never  completed.  Some  characters, 
originally  intended  to  be  introduced,  remained  unattempted ;  others 
were  but  partially  sketched — such  was  the  one  of  Reynolds,  the 
friend  of  his  heart,  and  which  he  commenced  with  a  felicity  which 
makes  us  regret  that  it  should  remain  unfinished. 

"  Here  Reynolds  is  laid,  and  to  tell  you  my  mind, 
He  has  not  left  a  wiser  or  better  behind. 
His  pencil  was  striking,  resistless,  and  grand  ; 
His  manners  were  gentle,  complying,  and  bland  ; 
Still  born  to  improve  us  in  every  part. 
His  pencil  our  faces,  his  manners  our  heart. 
To  coxcombs  averse,  yet  most  civilly  steering, 
When  they  judged  without  skill  he  was  still  hard  of  hearing : 
"When  they  talked  of  their  Raphaels,  Corregios,  and  stuff. 
He  shifted  his  trumpet  and  only  took  snufF. 
By  flattery  unspoiled"  

The  friendly  portrait  stood  unfi.nished  on  the  easel ;  the  hand 
.  of  the  artist  had  failed  !  An  access  of  a  local  complaint,  under 
which  he  had  suffered  for  some  time  past,  added  to  a  general 
prostration  of  health,  brought  Goldsmith  back  to  town  before  he 
had  well  settled  himself  in  the  country.     The  local  complaint 


HIS  DEATH.  367 


subsided,  but  was  followed  by  a  low  nervous  fever.  He  was  not 
aware  of  his  critical  situation,  and  intended  to  be  at  the  club  on 
the  25th  of  March,  on  which  occasion  Charles  Fox,  Sir  Charles 
Bunbury  (one  of  the  Horneck  connection),  and  two  other  new 
members  were  to  be  present.  In  the  afternoon,  however,  he  felt 
so  unwell  as  to  take  to  his  bed,  and  his  symptoms  soon  acquired 
sufficient  force  to  keep  him  there.  His  malady  fluctuated  for 
several  days,  and  hopes  were  entertained  of  his  recovery,  but  they 
proved  fallacious.  He  had  skilful  medical  aid  and  faithful  nurs- 
ing, but  he  would  not  follow  the  advice  of  his  physicians,  and 
persisted  in  the  use  of  James's  powders,  which  he  had  once  found 
beneficial,  but  which  were  now  injurious  to  him.  His  appetite 
was  gone,  his  strength  failed  him,  but  his  mind  remained  clear, 
and  was  perhaps  too  active  for  his  frame.  Anxieties  and  disap- 
pointments which  had  previously  sapped  his  constitution,  doubt- 
less aggravated  his  present  complaint  and  rendered  him  sleepless. 
In  reply  to  an  inquiry  of  his  physician,  he  acknowledged  that  his 
mind  was  ill  at  ease.  This  was  his  last  reply :  he  was  too  weak 
to  talk,  and  in  general  took  no  notice  of  what  was  said  to  him. 
He  sank  at  last  into  a  deep  sleep,  and  it  was  hoped  a  favorable 
crisis  had  arrived.  He  awoke,  however,  in  strong  convulsions, 
which  continued  without  intermission  until  he  expired,  on  the 
fourth  of  April,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning;  being  in  the 
forty-sixth  year  of  his  age. 

His  death  was  a  shock  to  the  literary  world,  and  a  deep 
affliction  to  a  wide  circle  of  intimates  and  friends ;  for,  with  all 
his  foibles  and  peculiarities,  he  was  fully  as  much  beloved  as  he  \ 
was  admired.  Burke,  on  hearing  the  news,  burst  into  tears. 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  threw  by  his  pencil  for  the  day,  and 
grieved  more   than  he  had  done  in  times  of  great  family  dis- 


368  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


A 


tress.  "  I  was  abroad  at  the  time  of  his  death,"  writes  Dr.  M'Don- 
nell,  the  youth  whom  when  in  distress  he  had  employed  as  an 
amanuensis,  "and  I  wept  bitterly  when  the  intelligence  first 
reached  me.  A  blank  came  over  my  heart  as  if  I  had  lost  one 
of  my  nearest  relatives,  and  was  followed  for  some  days  by  a 
feeling  of  despondency."  Johnson  felt  the  blow  deeply  and 
gloomily.  In  writing  some  time  afterwards  to  Boswell,  he  ob- 
served, "  Of  poor  Dr.  Groldsmith  there  is  little  to  be  told  more 
than  the  papers  have  made  public.  He  died  of  a  fever,  made, 
I  am  afraid,  more  violent  by  uneasiness  of  mind.  His  debts 
began  to  be  heavy,  and  all  his  resources  were  exhausted.  Sir 
Joshua  is  of  opinion  that  he  owed  no  less  than  two  thousand 
pounds.     Was  ever  poet  so  trusted  before  ?" 

Among  his  debts  were  seventy-nine  pounds  due  to  his  tailor, 
Mr.  William  Filby,  from  whom  he  had  received  a  new  suit  but  a 
few  days  before  his  death.  "  My  father,"  said  the  younger 
Filby,  "  though  a  loser  to  that  amount,  attributed  no  blame  to 
Groldsmith ;  he  had  been  a  good  customer,  and  had  he  lived, 
would  have  paid  every  farthing."  Others  of  his  tradespeople 
evinced  the  same  confidence  in  his  integrity,  notwithstanding  his 
heedlessness.  Two  sister  milliners  in  Temple  Lane,  who  had 
been  accustomed  to  deal  with  him,  were  concerned  when  told, 
some  time  before  his  death,  of  his  pecuniary  embarrassments. 
"  Oh,  sir,"  said  they  to  Mr.  Cradock,  "  sooner  persuade  him  to 
let  us  work  for  him  gratis  than  apply  to  any  other ;  we  are  sure 
he  will  pay  us  when  he  can." 

On  the  stairs  of  his  apartment  there  was  the  lamentation  of 
the  old  and  infirm,  and  the  sobbing  of  women  ;  poor  objects  of 
his  charity,  to  whom  he  had  never  turned  a  deaf  ear,  even  when 
struggling  himself  with  poverty. 


THE  JESSAMY    BRIDE.  369 


But  there  was  one  mourner,  whose  enthusiasm  for  his  memory, 
could  it  have  been  foreseen,  might  have  soothed  the  bitterness 
of  death.  After  the  coffin  had  been  screwed  down,  a  lock  of  his 
hair  was  requested  for  a  lady,  a  particular  friend,  who  wished 
to  preserve  it  as  a  remembrance.  It  was  the  beautiful  Mary 
Horneck — the  Jessamy  Bride.  The  coffin  was  opened  again, 
and  a  lock  of  hair  cut  off ;  which  she  treasured  to  her  dying  day. 
Poor  Groldsmith !  could  he  have  foreseen  that  such  a  memorial 
of  him  was  to  be  thus  cherished  ! 

One  word  more  concerning  this  lady,  to  whom  we  have  so 
often  ventured  to  advert.  She  survived  almost  to  the  pres- 
ent day.  Hazlitt  met  her  at  Northcote's  painting-room,  about 
twenty  years  since,  as  Mrs.  Gwyn,  the  widow  of  a  General  Grwyn 
of  the  army.  She  was  at  that  time  upwards  of  seventy  years  of 
age.  Still,  he  said,  she  was  beautiful,  beautiful  even  in  years. 
After  she  was  gone,  Hazlitt  remarked  how  handsome  she  still 
was.  "  I  do  not  know,"  said  Northcote,  "  why  she  is  so  kind  as 
to  come  to  see  me,  except  that  I  am  the  last  link  in  the  chain 
that  connects  her  with  all  those  she  most  esteemed  when  young — 
Johnson,  Reynolds,  Goldsmith — and  remind  her  of  the  most 
delightful  period  of  her  life."  "  Not  only  so,"  observed  Hazlitt, 
"  but  you  remember  what  she  was  at  twenty  ;  and  you  thus 
bring  back  to  her  the  triumphs  of  her  youth — that  pride  of 
beauty,  which  must  be  the  more  fondly  cherished  as  it  has  no 
external  vouchers,  and  lives  chiefly  in  the  bosom  of  its  once 
lovely  possessor.  In  her,  however,  the  Graces  had  triumphed 
over  time  ;  she  was  one  of  Ninon  de  I'Enclos's  people,  of  the  last 
of  the  immortals.  I  could  almost  fancy  the  shade  of  Goldsmith 
in  the  room,  looking  round  with  complacency." 


16* 


370  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


The  Jessamy  Bride  survived  her  sister  upwards  of  forty 
years,  and  died  in  1840,  within  a  few  days  of  completing  her 
eighty-eighth  year.  "  She  had  gone  through  all  the  stages  of 
life,"  says  Northcote,  "  and  had  lent  a  grace  to  each.'*  However 
gayly  she  may  have  sported  with  the  half-concealed  admiration 
of  the  poor  awkward  poet  in  the  heyday  of  her  youth  and 
beauty,  and  however  much  it  may  have  been  made  a  subject  of 
teasing  by  her  youthful  companions,  she  evidently  prided  herself 
in  after  years  upon  having  been  an  object  of  his  affectionate 
regard ;  it  certainly  rendered  her  interesting  throughout  life 
in  the  eyes  of  his  admirers,  and  has  hung  a  poetical  wreath 
above  her  grave. 


THE  FUNERAL.  371 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

The  funeral. — The  monument. — The  epitaph. — Concluding  remarks. 

In  the  warm  feeling  of  the  moment,  while  the  remains  of  the 
poet  were  scarce  cold,  it  was  determined  by  his  friends  to  honor 
them  by  a  public  funeral  and  a  tomb  in  Westminster  Abbey. 
His  very  pall-bearers  were  designated :  Lord  Shelburne,  Lord 
Lowth,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  ;  the  Hon.  Mr.  Beauclerc,  Mr. 
Burke,  and  David  Garrick.  This  feeling  cooled  down,  however, 
when  it  was  discovered  that  he  died  in  debt,  and  had,  not  left 
wherewithal  to  pay  for  such  expensive  obsequies.  Five  days 
after  his  death,  therefore,  at  five  o'clock  of  Saturday  evening, 
the  9th  of  April,  he  was  privately  interred  in  the  burying- 
ground  of  the  Temple  Church  ;  a  few  persons  attending  as 
mourners,  among  whom  we  do  not  find  specified  any  of  his  pecu- 
liar and  distinguished  friends.  The  chief  mourner  was  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds's  nephew.  Palmer,  afterwards  Dean  of  Cashel. 
One  person,  however,  from  whom  it  was  but  little  to  be  expected, 
attended  the  funeral  and  evinced  real  sorrow  on  the  occasion. 
This  was  Hugh  Kelly,  once  the  dramatic  rival  of  the  deceased, 
and  often,  it  is  said,  his  anonymous  assailant  in  the  newspapers. 


372  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


If  he  had  really  been  guilty  of  this  basest  of  literary  offences, 
he  was  punished  by  the  stings  of  remorse,  for  we  are  told  that 
he  shed  bitter  tears  over  the  grave  of  the  man  he  had  injured. 
His  tardy  atonement  only  provoked  the  lash  of  some  unknown 
satirist,  as  the  following  lines  will  show : 

"  Hence  Kelly,  who  years,  without  honor  or  shame. 
Had  been  sticking  his  bodkin  in  Oliver's  fame. 
Who  thought,  like  the  Tartar,  by  this  to  inherit 
His  genius,  his  learning,  simplicity,  spirit ; 
Now  sets  every  feature  to  weep  o'er  his  fate, 
And  acts  as  a  mourner  to  blubber  in  state." 

One  base  wretch  deserves  to  be  mentioned,  the  reptile  Ken- 
rick,  who,  after  having  repeatedly  slandered  Goldsmith,  while 
living,  had  the  audacity  to  insult  his  memory  when  dead.  The 
following  distich  is  sufficient  to  show  his  malignancy,  and  to  hold 
him  up  to  execration  : 

"  By  his  own  art,  who  justly  died, 
A  blund'ring,  artless  suicide  : 
Share,  earthworms,  share,  since  now  he's  dead. 
His  megrim,  maggot-bitten  head  " 

This  scurrilous  epitaph  produced  a  burst  of  public  indig- 
nation, that  awed  for  a  time  even  the  infamous  Kenrick  into 
silence.  On  the  other  hand,  the  press  teemed  with  tributes  in 
verse  and  prose  to  the  memory  of  the  deceased ;  all  evincing  the 
mingled  feeling  of  admiration  for  the  autlior  and  affection  for  the 
man. 


THE  EPITAPH.  373 


Not  long  after  his  death  the  Literary  Club  set  on  foot  a  sub- 
scription, and  Raised  a  fund  to  erect  a  monument  to  his  memory, 
in  Westminster  Abbey.  It  was  executed  by  Nollekins,  and  con- 
sisted simply  of  a  bust  of  the  poet  in  profile,  in  high  relief,  in  a 
medallion,  and  was  placed  in  the  area  of  a  pointed  arch,  over  the 
south  door  in  Poet's  Corner,  between  the  monuments  of  Gray  and 
the  Duke  of  Argyle.  Johnson  furnished  a  Latin  epitaph,  which 
was  read  at  the  table  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  where  several 
members  of  the  club  and  other  friends  of  the  deceased  were  pre- 
sent. Though  considered  by  them  a  masterly  composition,  they 
thought  the  literary  character  of  the  poet  not  defined  with  suffi- 
cient exactness,  and  they  preferred  that  the  epitaph  should  be  in 
English  rather  than  Latin,  as  "  the  memory  of  so  eminent  an  Eng- 
lish writer  ought  to  be  perpetuated  in  the  language  to  which  his 
works  were  likely  to  be  so  lasting  an  ornament." 

These  objections  were  reduced  to  writing,  to  be  respectfully 
submitted  to  Johnson,  but  such  was  the  awe  entertained  of  his 
frown,  that  every  one  shrank  from  putting  his  name  first  to  the 
instrument ;  whereupon  their  names  were  written  about  it  in  a 
circle,  making  what  mutinous  sailors  call  a  Round  Robin.  John- 
son received  it  half  graciously  half  grimly.  "  He  was  willing,"  he 
said,  "  to  modify  the  sense  of  the  epitaph  in  any  manner  the  gen- 
tlemen pleased  ;  but  Jie  never  would  consent  to  disgrace  the  walls 
of  Westminster  Abbey^  with  an  English  inscription^  Seeing  the 
names  of  Dr.  Wharton  and  Edmund  Burke  among  the  signers, 
"  he  wondered,"  he  said,  "  that  Joe  Wharton,  a  scholar  by  pro- 
fession, should  be  such  a  fool ;  and  should  have  thought  that 
Mund  Burke  would  have  had  more  sense."  The  following  is  the 
epitaph  as  it  stands  inscribed  on  a  white  marble  tablet  beneath  the 
bust : 


374  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


"  OLIVARII  GOLDSMITH, 

Poetae,  Physici,  Historici,  * 

Qui  nullum  fere  scribendi  genus 
Non  tetigit, 
Nullum  quod  tetigit  non  ornavit : 
Sive  risus  essent  movendi, 
Sive  lacrymae, 
Affectuum  potens  at  lenis  dominator ; 
Ingenio  sublimis,  vividus,  versatilis, 
Oratione  grandis,  nitidus,  venustus  : 
Hoc  monumento  memoriam  coluit 
Sodalium   amor, 
Amicorum  fides, 
Lectorum  veneratio. 
Natus  in  Hibernia,  Forniae  Longfordiensis, 
In  loco  cui  nomen  Pallas, 
Nov.  XXIX.  MDCCxxxi.  ; 
Eblanae  literis  institutus; 
Obiit  Londini, 
April  IV.  MDCCLXxiv."* 

We  shall  not  pretend  to  follow  these  anecdotes  of  the  life  of 
Groldsmith  with  any  critical  dissertation  on  his  writings ;  their 


The  following  translation  is  from  Croker's  edition  of  Boswell's  Johnson 

OF  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH— 

A  Poet,  Naturalist,  and  Historian, 

Who  left  scarcely  any  style  of  writing 

untouched, 

And  touched  nothing  that  he  did  not  adorn ; 

Of  all  the  passions, 

Whether  smiles  were  to  be  moved 

or  tears, 

A  powerful  yet  gentle  master ; 

In  genius,  sublime,  vivid,  versatile, 


CONCLUDING  REMARKS.  375 


merits  have  long  since  been  fully  discussed,  and  their  station  in 
the  scale  of  literary  merit  permanently  established.  They  have 
outlasted  generations  of  works  of  higher  power  and  wider  scope, 
and  will  continue  to  outlast  succeeding  generations,  for  they  have 
that  magic  charm  of  style  by  which  works  are  embalmed  to  per- 
petuity. Neither  shall  we  attempt  a  regular  analysis  of  the 
character  of  the  poet,  but  will  indulge  in  a  few  desultory  remarks 
in  addition  to  those  scattered  throughout  the  preceding  chapters. 

Never  was  the  trite,  because  sage  apothegm,  that  "  The  child  I 
is  father  to  the  man,"  more  fully  verified  than  in  the  case  of 
Goldsmith.  He  is  shy,  awkward,  and  blundering  in  childhood, 
yet  full  of  sensibility ;  he  is  a  butt  for  the  jeers  and  jokes  of  his 
companions,  but  apt  to  surprise  and  confound  them  by  sudden 
and  witty  repartees ;  he  is  dull  and  stupid  at  his  tasks,  yet  an 
eager  and  intelligent  devourer  of  the  travelling  tales  and  cam- 
paigning stories  of  his  half  military  pedagogue ;  he  may  be  a 
dunce,  but  he  is  already  a  rhymer ;  and  his  early  scintillations 
of  poetry  awaken  the  expectations  of  his  friends.  He  seems  from 
infancy  to  have  been  compounded  of  two  natures,  one  bright,  the 
other  blundering ;  or  to  have  had  fairy  gifts  laid  in  his  cradle 


In  style,  elevated,  clear,  elegant — 

The  love  of  companions, 

The  fidelity  of  friends. 

And  the  veneration  of  readers, 

Have  by  this  monument  honored  the  memory. 

He  was  born  in  Ireland, 

At  a  place  called  Pallas, 

[In  the  parish]  of  Forney,  [and  county]  of  Longford, 

On  the  29th  Nov.,  1731, 

Educated  at  [the  University  of]  Dublin, 

And  died  in  London, 

4th  April,  1774. 


376  OLIVER'  GOLDSMITH. 


by  the  "  good  people"  who  haunted  his  birth-place,  the  old  goblin 
mansion  on  the  banks  of  the  Inny. 

He  carries  with  him  the  wayward  elfin  spirit,  if  we  may  so 
term  it,  throughout  his  career.  His  fairy  gifts  are  of  no  avail  at 
school,  academy,  or  college :  they  unfit  him  for  close  study  and 
practical  science,  and  render  him  heedless  of  every  thing  that 
does  not  address  itself  to  his  poetical  imagination  and  genial  and 
festive  feelings ;  they  dispose  him  to  break  away  from  restraint, 
to  stroll  about  hedges,  green  lanes,  and  haunted  streams,  to  revel 
with  jovial  companions,  or  to  rove  the  country  like  a  gipsy  in 
quest  of  odd  adventures. 

As  if  confiding  in  these  delusive  gifts,  he  takes  no  heed  of  the 
present  nor  care  for  the  future,  lays  no  regular  and  solid  founda- 
tion of  knowledge,  follows  out  no  plan,  adopts  and  discards  those 
recommended  by  his  friends,  at  one  time  prepares  for  the  mi- 
nistry, next  turns  to  the  law,  and  then  fixes  upon  medicine.  He 
repairs  to  Edinburgh,  the  great  emporium  of  medical  science,  but 
the  fairy  gifts  accompany  him  ;  he  idles  and  frolics  away  his  time 
there,  imbibing  only  such  knowledge  as  is  agreeable  to  him ; 
makes  an  excursion  to  the  poetical  regions  of  the  Highlands  ;  and 
having  walked  the  hospitals  for  the  customary  time,  sets  off  to 
ramble  over  the  Continent,  in  quest  of  novelty  rather  than  know- 
ledge. His  whole  tour  is  a  poetical  one.  He  fancies  he  is  play- 
ing the  philosopher  while  he  is  really  playing  the  poet;  and 
though  professedly  he  attends  lectures  and  visits  foreign  univer- 
sities, so  deficient  is  he  on  his  return,  in  the  studies  for  which  he 
set  out,  that  he  fails  in  an  examination  as  a  surgeon's  mate ;  and 
while  figuring  as  a  doctor  of  medicine,  is  outvied  on  a  point  of 
practice  by  his  apothecary.  Baffled  in  every  regular  pursuit, 
after  trying  in  vain  some  of  the  humbler  callings  of  commonplace 


CONCLUDING  REMARl 


^0R«" 


life,  he  is  driven  almost  by  cliance  to  the  exercise 
here  the  fairy  gifts  come  to  his  assistance.  For  a  long  time,  how- 
ever, he  seems  unaware  of  the  magic  properties  of  that  pen :  he 
uses  it  only  as  a  make-shift  until  he  can  find  a  legitimate  means 
of  support.  He  is  not  a  learned  man,  and  can  write  but  mea- 
gerly  and  at  second-hand  on  learned  subjects  ;  but  he  has  a  quick 
convertible  talent  that  seizes  lightly  on  the  points  of  knowledge 
necessary  to  the  illustration  of  a  theme :  his  writings  for  a  time 
are  desultory,  the  fruits  of  what  he  has  seen  and  felt,  or  what  he 
has  recently  and  hastily  read ;  but  his  gifted  pen  transmutes 
every  thing  into  gold,  and  his  own  genial  nature  reflects  its  sun- 
shine through  his  pages. 

Still  unaware  of  his^powers  he  throws  off  his  writings  anony- 
mously, to  go  with  the  writings  of  less  favored  men  ;  and  it  is  a 
long  time,  and  after  a  bitter  struggle  with  poverty  and  humilia- 
tion, before  he  acquires  confidence  in  his  literary  talent  as  a 
means  of  support,  and  begins  to  dream  of  reputation. 

From  this  time  his  pen  is  a  wand  of  power  in  his  hand,  and 
he  has  only  to  use  it  discreetly,  to  make  it  competent  to  all  his 
wants.  But  discretion  is  not  a  part  of  Goldsmith's  nature  ;  and 
it  seems  the  property  of  these  fairy  gifts  to  be  accompanied  by 
moods  and  temperaments  to  render  their  effect  precarious.  The 
heedlessness  of  his  early  days ;  his  disposition  for  social  enjoy- 
ment ;  his  habit  of  throwing  the  present  on  the  neck  of  the 
future,  still  continue.  His  expenses  forerun  his  means ;  he  in- 
curs debts  on  the  faith  of  what. his  magic  pen  is  to  produce,  and 
then,  under  the  pressure  of  his  debts,  sacrifices  its  productions 
for  prices  far  below  their  value.  It  is  a  redeeming  cirumstance 
in  his  prodigality,  that  it  is  lavished  oftener  upon  othei*s  than 
upon  himself:  he  gives  without  thought  or  stint,  and  is  the  con- 


378  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


tinual  dupe  of  his  benevolence  and  his  trustfulness  in  human 
nature.  We  may  say  of  him  as  he  says  of  one  of  his  heroes, 
"  He  could  not  stifle  the  natural  impulse  which  he  had  to  do 
good,  but  frequently  borrowed  money  to  relieve  the  distressed ; 
and  when  he  knew  not  conveniently  where  to  borrow,  he  has 
been  observed  to  shed  tears  as  he  passed  through  the  wretched 
suppliants  who  attended  his  gate."  ***** 

"  His  simplicity  in  trusting  persons  whom  he  had  no  previous 
reasons  to  place  confidence  in,  seems  to  be  one  of  those  lights  of 
his  character  which,  while  they  impeach  his  understanding,  do 
honor  to  his  benevolence.  The  low  and  the  timid  are  ever  suspi- 
cious ;  but  a  heart  impressed  with  honorable  sentiments,  expects 
from  others  sympathetic  sincerity."* 

His  heedlessness  in  pecuniary  matters,  which  had  rendered 
his  life  a  struggle  with  poverty  even  in  the  days  of  his  obscurity, 
rendered  the  struggle  still  more  intense  when  his  fairy  gifts  had 
elevated  him  into  the  society  of  the  wealthy  and  luxurious,  and 
imposed  on  his  simple  and  generous  spirit  fancied  obligations  to 
a  more  ample  and  bounteous  display. 

"  How  comes  it,"  says  a  recent  and  ingenious  critic,  "  that  in 
all  the  miry  paths  of  life  which  he  had  trod,  no  speck  ever  sul- 
lied the  robe  of  his  modest  and  graceful  muse.  How  amidst  all 
that  love  of  inferior  company,  which  never  to  the  last  forsook 
him,  did  he  keep  his  genius  so  free  from  every  touch  of  vul- 
garity  ?" 

"VVe  answer  that  it  was  owing  to  the  innate^jirity  and  good- 
ness of  his  n_ature ;  there  was  nothing  in  it  that  assimilated  to 
vice  and  vulgarity.  Though  his  circumstances  often  compelled 
him  to' associate  with  the  poor,  they  never  could  betray  him  into 

*  Goldsmith's  Life  of  Nashe. 


CONCLUDING  REMARKS.  379 


companionship  with  the  depraved.  His  relish  for  humor  and  for 
the  study  of  character,  as  we  have  before  observed,  brought  him 
often  into  convivial  company  of  a  vulgar  kind  ;  but  he  discriminated 
between  their  vulgarity  and  their  amusing  qualities,  or  rather 
wrought  from  the  whole  those  familiar  features  of  life  which 
form  the  staple  of  his  most  popular  writings. 

Much,  too,  of  this  intact  purity  of  heart  may  be  ascribed  to 
the  lessons  of  his  infancy  under  the  paternal  roof ;  to  the  gentle, 
benevolent,  elevated,  unworldly  maxims  of  his  father,  who 
"  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year,"  infused  a  spirit  into 
his  child  which  riches  could  not  deprave  nor  poverty  degrade. 
Much  of  his  boyhood,  too,  had  been  passed  in  the  household  of 
his  uncle,  the  amiable  and  generous  Contarine ;  where  he  talked 
of  literature  with  the  good  pastor,  and  practised  music  with  his 
daughter,  and  delighted  them  both  by  his  juvenile  attempts  at 
poetry.  These  early  associations  breathed  a  grace  and  refine- 
ment into  his  mind  and  tuned  it  up,  after  the  rough  sports  on 
the  green,  or  the  frolics  at  the  tavern.  These  led  him  to  turn 
from  the  roaring  glees  of  the  club,  to  listen  to  the  harp  of 
his  cousin  Jane ;  and  from  the  rustic  triumph  of  "  throwing 
sledge,"  to  a  stroll  with  his  flute  along  the  pastoral  banks  of  the 
Inny. 

The  gentle  spirit  of  his  father  walked  with  him  through  life, 
a  pure  and  virtuous  monitor  ;  and  in  all  the  vicissitudes  of  his 
career,  we  find  him  ever  more  chastened  in  mind  by  the  sweet 
and  holy  recollections  of  the  home  of  his  infancy. 

It  has  been  questioned  whether  he  really  had  any  religious 
feeling.  Those  who  raise  the  question  have  never  considered 
well  his  writings ;  his  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  and  his  pictures  of 
the  Village  Pastor,  present  religion  under  its  most  endearing 


380 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


forms,  and  with  a  feeling  that  could  only  flow  from  the  deep 
convictions  of  the  heart.  When  his  fair  travelling  companions 
at  Paris  urged  him  to  read  the  Church  Service  on  a  Sunday,  he 
replied  that  "  he  was  not  worthy  to  do  it."  He  had  seen  in  early 
life  the  sacred  offices  performed  by  his  father  and  his  brother, 
with  a  solemnity  which  had  sanctified  them  in  his  memory ;  how 
could  he  presume  to  undertake  such  functions?  His  religion 
has  been  called  in  question  by  Johnson  and  by  Boswell :  he  cer- 
tainly had  not  the  gloomy  hypochondriacal  piety  of  the  one, 
nor  the  babbling  mouth-piety  of  the  other;  but  the  spirit  of 
Christian  charity  breathed  forth  in  his  writings  and  illustrated 
in  his  conduct,  give  us  reason  to  believe  he  had  the  indwelling 
religion  of  the  soul. 

We  have  made  sufficient  comments  in  the  preceding  chapters 
on  his  conduct  in  elevated  circles  of  literature  and  fashion. 
The  fairy  gifts  which  took  him  there,  were  not  accompanied  by 
the  gifts  and  graces  necessary  to  sustain  him  in  that  artificial 
sphere.  He  can  neither  play  the  learned  sage  with  Johnson, 
nor  the  fine  gentleman  with  Beauclerc :  though  he  has  a  mind 
replete  with  wisdom  and  natural  shrewdness,  and  a  spirit  free 
from  vulgarity.  The  blunders  of  a  fertile  but  hurried  intellect, 
and  the  awkward  display  of  the  student  assuming  the  man  of 
fashion,  fix  on  him  a  character  for  absurdity  and  vanity  which, 
like  the  charge  of  lunacy,  it  is  hard  to  disprove,  however  weak 
the  grounds  of  the  charge  and  strong  the  facts  in  opposition 
to  it. 

In  truth,  he  is  never  truly  in  his  place  in  these  learned  and 
fashionable  circles,  which  talk  and  live  for  display.  It  is  not 
the  kind  of  society  he  craves.  His  heart  yearns  for  domestic 
life;  it  craves  familiar,  confiding   intercourse,  family  firesides. 


CONCLUDING  REMARKS.  381 


the  guileless  and  happy  company  of  children ;  these  bring  out 
the  heartiest  and  sweetest  sympathies  of  his  nature. 

"  Had  it  been  his  fate,"  says  the  critic  we  have  already  quoted, 
"  to  meet  a  woman  who  could  have  loved  him,  despite  his  faults, 
and  respected  him  despite  his  foibles,  we  cannot  but  think  that 
his  life  and  his  genius  would  have  been  much  more  harmonious  ; 
his  desultory  aiFections  would  have  been  concentred,  his  craving 
self-love  appeased,  his  pursuits  more  settled,  his  character  more 
solid.  A  nature  like  Goldsmith's,  so  affectionate,  so  confiding — 
so  susceptible  to  simple,  innocent  enjoyments — so  dependent  on 
others  for  the  sunshine  of  existence,  does  not  flower  if  deprived 
of  the  atmosphere  of  home." 

The  cravings  of  his  heart  in  this  respect  are  evident,  we 
think,  throughout  his  career ;  and  if  we  have  dwelt  with  more 
significancy  than  others,  upon  his  intercourse  with  the  beauti- 
ful Horneck  family,  it  is  because  we  fancied  we  could  detect, 
amid  his  playful  attentions  to  one  of  its  members,  a  lurking 
sentiment  of  tenderness,  kept  down  by  conscious  poverty  and  a 
humiliating  idea  of  personal  defects.  A  hopeless  feeling  of  this 
kind — the  last  a  man  would  communicate  to  his  friends — might 
account  for  much  of  that  fitfulness  of  conduct,  and  that  gathering 
melancholy,  remarked,  but  not  comprehended  by  his  associates, 
during  the  last  year  or  two  of  his  life  ;  and  may  have  been  one 
of  the  troubles  of  the  mind  which  aggravated  his  last  illness,  and 
only  terminated  with  his  death. 

We  shall  conclude  these  desultory  remarks,  with  a  few  which 
have  been  used  by  us  on  a  former  occasion.  From  the  general  tone 
of  Goldsmith's  biography,  it  is  evident  that  his  faults,  at  the  worst, 
were  but  negative,  while  his  merits  were  great  and  decided.  He 
was  no  one's  enemy  but  his  own ;  his  errors,  in  the  main,  inflicted 


382  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


evil  on  none  but  himself,  and  were  so  blended  with  humorous,  and 
even  affecting  circumstances,  as  to  disarm  anger  and  conciliate 
,  kindness.  "Where  eminent  talent  is  united  to  spotless  virtue,  we 
are  awed  and  dazzled  into  admiration,  but  our  admiration  is  apt  to 
be  cold  and  reverential ;  while  there  is  something  in  the  harm- 
less infirmities  of  a  good  and  great,  but  erring  individual,  that 
pleads  touchingly  to  our  nature ;  and  we  turn  more  kindly 
towards  the  object  of  our  idolatry,  when  we  find  that,  like  our- 
selves, he  is  mortal  and  is  frail.  The  epithet  so  often  heard,  and 
in  such  kindly  tones,  of  "  poor  Groldsmith,"  speaks  volumes.  Few, 
who  consider  the  real  compound  of  admirable  and  whimsical 
qualities  which  form  his  character,  would  wish  to  prune  away  its 
eccentricities,  trim  its  grotesque  luxuriance,  and  clip  it  down  to 
the  decent  formalities  of  rigid  virtue.  "  Let  not  his  frailties  be 
remembered,"  said  Johnson  ;  "  he  was  a  very  great  man."  But, 
for  our  part,  we  rather  say  "  Let  them  be  remembered,"  since 
their  tendency  is  to  endear ;  and  we  question  whether  he  himself 
would  not  feel  gratified  in  hearing  his  reader,  after  dwelling  with 
admiration  on  the  proofs  of  his  greatness,  close  the  volume  with 
the  kind-hearted  phrase,  so  fondly  and  familiarly  ejaculated,  of 
\     "  Poor  Goldsmith." 


THE   END. 


GEORGE  P.  PUTNAM 

Has   in   press,   and   will   shortly   publish, 


THE 


MISCELLANEOUS   WORKS 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH, 

Uniform  with  Wasliington  Irving^s  Worhs^  now 
in  course  of  puUication, 

*^*  This  Edition  will  contain  all  that  has  been  published 
bj  Prior  and  other  collectors,  and  will  be  the  most  complete 
and  elegant  edition  now  extant. 


* 


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